


A String of Legends

by AGN



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Folklore, Gen, Legends, M/M, One Shot, spamano - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-05-25 22:17:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14986763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGN/pseuds/AGN
Summary: I was traveling across Spain this summer. Since I love folklore and local legends, I asked about local legends in the villages I visited, and Hetalized them on the go. Some are AU, some are canonverse. Most are Spamano. Independent oneshots I updated daily while traveling. Bad side: In the road there were no betas or much time to proof-read, and English isn´t my first language, so mistakes and funny grammar probably happened. Take it for the anthropological value.





	1. A Pact with the Devil (Segovia)

**Author's Note:**

> Redundant warnign: Many legends have religious overtones.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: Romano, a young servant, is sick of carrying water from the local spring to his master´s kitchen. He gets an offer he just can´t turn down.
> 
> Featuring: Romano, Spain, Hungary, Austria.

**A Pact with the Devil** (Segovia)

 

 

Once upon a time there was a serving girl living in the city of Segovia.

That´s how the cityfolk tell the story anyway, but it isn´t quite true.

The servant who lived once upon a time in the city of Segovia was actually a boy. A boy who was grumpy, and lazy, and very much in love, for his own misery. His name was Romano. He lived in one of the large, monumental buildings that his Boss owned across the dry lands of Spain.

Romano´s boss was kind to him, but he was a busy man and could only pay little attention to his young charge. Theironly momments together were after dinner, when they both went up to the stone city walls and watched the stars complete their lazy walk over the sky.Romano treasured those evenings, and wished they would last longer, but the jerk of his boss refused to push his obligations aside and stay with Romano, so he kept leaving him. When he did, Romano felt irresistible urges to kick stones, and buckets, and chairs. He coudn´t quite explain where the impusle came from, but he knew it was all his boss´fault, somehow.

To make things worse, dry lands are called dry lands for a reason, and getting water from the distant river to the large, monumental building he lived in was a struggle. Since his boss was always busy protecting them both, it was up to Romano to walk several times per day to the top of the hill where the lonely spring run, pitcher in hand, and carry the water all the way back to the house, to water the fields and serve his master´s kitchen.

Romano hated that task. Well, he hated any task on principle, but that one had a special place in his list of things to detest. It was hard and exhausting, and never ending. Besides, if it were not for the need of water in his master's house he would have time to accompany his boss in his travels and spend more time with him. He felt like his boss never noticed him, and for some reason he really really really wanted to be noticed. He wanted to be anywhere his boss was. He had even asked nicely!

“I´d love to have you along, Roma, but we need someone here to take care of the house and bring water.”

He hated the task, he hated the water, and he hated the coper pitcher! He hated it all so much that one day, in the middle of a tantrum, he threw the metallic object to the ground, and cursed, and kicked, and swore in the name of heaven that he would sell his soul to the devil if he did not have to carry a single glass of water ever again.

Hold and behold though! As that promise left his pouting lips, the clear skies were illuminated by a supernatural flash of lightning that fell right behind the cursing boy. Romano jumped in place and turned, startled. Right behind him he found an elegant man with black hair, glasses, and a red suit, all surounded by sulfurous smoke. The silent street got filed by soft, metric piano music that seemed to follow the stranger like a shadow.

“I have heard that you hate that jerk that is your master, and that you hate fetching water for him. Is that rue?”

“Yes! Yes it is” He did not, but he hates that Spain made him work in the slightest. And worse! He hated that no matter how hard he tried to work he never seemed to get his boss´s admiration. What was the point to do any work if his boss never seemed to notice it? With his heart pained by unrequited love and his feet hurting he felt close enough to hate to believe his own words.

“ And I have heard that you would do anything to get rid of such an unpleasant task.”

“Yes! Yes I would!”

“Oh! What a fortunate coincidence... Tell me, Romano, how would you feel if I told you I can take your problems away? I can make water come to your doorstep without you moving a muscle Because it turns out that I can. I can build a structure so mighty and magnificent that would save you all those walks up and down the ramp between your master´s home and the river, and deliver the water right to your door. I ask only for just your immortal soul. A bargain, if I may say so myself.”

Romano looked up, suspicious.

He knew this creature coudn´t be safe to deal with. What self-respecting man falls from the sky in the form of lightning anyway? Still, he was tempted to accept. He was a nation after all. It is not like he used his soul all that much, and he was almost immortal, so he would not have to face hell in a very long time. But still, he was a religious nation, and he was pretty sure that your soul is one of those things you aren´t supposed to sell according to priests...

Feeling his sudden hesitation, the man in red smiled sweetly.

"Afraid? I see..."

"N-No! It´s just that...well, you know. I´ve never sold my sould before and I´m not sure if I have a spare..."

“I´ll tell you what, my child. I'll make a bet with you. I will bet that I can build the entire thing in one single night. If I fail, I will return your soul back to you. Else, your soul will be mine and you will live with me forever. How does that sound?”

Romano looked at the man up and down. He was thin and didn't look like he could lift a feather, let alone construction suplies. His hands were delicate, with long fingers. They were the hands of a musician, not of a peon, and all the rock around this land was hard granite. Hard, stubborn and insensitive like his boss's heart, who didn´t even notice how Lovino hated to be ignored! But I digress...- Romano thought about it for a couple of minutes. Then he smirked and agreed, congratulating himself on his cunningest. Oh! He was so clever! He would accept the deal, and, since the stranger would never have time to finish the entire thing, he wouldn't have to pay, but he would already have part of the structure built for free, and he would have to make a shorter way to fetch water from them on! Wasn´t he a genious? Oh yes, he was! And even if he loses the bet, what does he care? He won´t die in a very long time.

Proud of his plan, Lovino extended his little hand to the misterious figure.

  
With a predatory smile, he shook the stranger's hand and accepted the deal.

The stranger pushed his glasses up with one finger and shook the kid´s hand. Only then did the figure smile, a small and sly smile topped by burning eyes. Romano felt his breath drain from him the moment their hands touched. No, it was not his breath, it was something deeper, as if his mere essence was being dragged out of him throughhis skin, Romano fell on his knees and bent over his stomach, trying to keep that mysterious something in, but it was no use. His face contorted in a silent, breathless scream and his eyes opened even though they coudn´t se anything but fire and darkness. When the terrible drawing sensation died out and the stone road came back into focuss for him, the elegant stranger smiled and disappeared, taking the metric piano music with him.

Romano blinked, trying to porcess what had just happened to him. He run back to his master´s house and hid under the bed for the rest of the day.

At dinner time, the young boy crawled out, looking left and right to make sure no sinister strangers were lurking in the shadows. He was still scared, but there was no way he was going to miss his favorite part of the day, and the only time in which his secretly adored boss paid attention to him. He crawled out of the room and walked down to the kitchen. His boss crossed his path though. Instead of saying hi, the owner of the house just walked right past him. The bastard almost walked over him!

“Hey!” Romano protested, not used to such a cold treatment "use your damn eyes! Will you?".

His young boss turned to him, eyes proud and slightly distant.

  
“Excuse me, but I am not in the habit of allowing strangers to address me with such disrespect. Who are you and why are you in my house?” Romano´s mouth fell open. What was his boss talking about?

The young man though wasn´t used to wait for answers. He knitted his brows, green eyes narrowing dangerously. Romano´s heart was paralyzed with dread.

"You have ten seconds."  
“ I-It is me! I´m Romano, dammit! Who else would it be?” Maybe his boss hadn´t seen him with this clothes yet? His boss tended to overlook small details, he was often too caught in his own thoughts to care about them, but this was ridiculous “W-We should go to the kitchen now! Or dinner will get cold”.

“Oh! Of course! Romano and I will go, as soon as I find him, but you, whomever you are, are not going anywhere.”

“Wh-what the heck do you think you are talking about! This-this is not funny y-you jerk-!” he had no time to finish his insult, a hand slapped him across the face so strong he ended up on the floor. He looked up, incredulous. The green-eyed teenager glared at him as if he really didn't recognize him. He gave a step forward, and all of Romano´s isntincts started to flare and tell him to run away. His voice died in his throat. His entire body reacted as if he had just kicked a sleeping lion, and somehow he knew that´s exactly what he had done. But why? His boss never took those things seriously! Not when it was from Romano! They knew eachother enought, and-

“I don't usually hit children, brat. But sneaking into my house, uninvited, insulting me and trying to pass for my friend is going a step too far. I don't know who you are. If you are a spy, as I suspect you are, you better run with your life now, before I have time to realize that I am being too generous for my own good. I don't have much time to spend with Romano and I don't plan on wasting it with you.”

Romano stared, completely horrified. ´You are being too generous for your own good´ was what Romano has complained about when his boss had allowed a french spy to run with his life after being discovered, just a month ago. Romano had been furious then. He had yelled, totally mad with the fear of what could happen to his boss as punishment for his generosity, and had made the teenager swear to him that he'd never let a spy leave his house alive again. With a shiver, and a broken heart, Romano run off the house and across the stone paved streets of Segovia, before his boss decided to not be a dick and honor the promise he had made to him. Night was starting to fall, the moon was rising in the sky, and in the horizon Romano could see a gigantic structure of arches being built at a supernatural speed.

  
Romano´s blood froze in his veins. Would he lose his boss and his soul forever?

With a sob caught in his throat, the poor serving kid climbed to the highest tree in the city to observe the construction that was happening along the mountain side. The man with the red suit and the glasses moved faster than the wind, cutting stone and piling it with a skill and celerity that no living creature should ever possess. The stranger had now two black wings and a tail, and he flew from one point to the next, carried by mysterious air currents. The cry that was caught in his throat broke free. Panic run through his spine and weakened his legs until they could barely hold him. He couldn't even keep his pants dry when he realized what he had done.

In his desperation, the kid remembered the words of priests and monks he was forced to listen to every Sunday. He climbed down the tree and run as fast as his legs allowed him to the closest chapel in town, a modest church built to keep our Lady of Fuencisla safe. He fell on his knees in front of the image of the Holy Virgin and prayed desperately, crying his eyes out. In the mists of his despair he heard the strange noise of frying eggs. He opened his reddened eyes and saw a woman glowing with warm light standing on top of the altar. She had long, flowing hair, a veil over her head and a frying pan on one hand.

  
“So, this piano jackass managed to fool you, huh?”

“No! I-Uh-I... Yes! I-I! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please help me!”

“I wish I could. I really like putting him in his place, but there is nothing I can do Romano, you made the deal voluntarily.”

“I-I´m sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't know! I-”

“Yes, you did know. You wanted everyone to work for you and pay your attention, to make you happy, but you refused to work for them in return. You were selfish and egocentric, and you thought you could have it all.”

“YesI yes I was... I... I just wanted to-I really hate it when he leaves me, and I thought-”

“Do you have any idea of how hard your boss must work to keep you and make time for you? How everyone here works to keep the city alive, so they can all have a place to live together and be friends and love and live? Is it that much to ask for you to contribute too?”

“No! No it isn't! I understand now! I do! Please! Help me!” The woman looked at him for a long time. She finally sighted, and nodded with her head. Her eyes were hard and determined, but there was compassion in them.

“Very well. Prove it.”

With those words, the mysterious lady materialized the pitcher that Romano had abandoned that morning in the middle of the street and threw it at his feet. The object rolled with an ugly metallic sound. Then, the woman disappeared.

  
Romano grabbed the pitcher and run off to the river. He filled it with water and run back to his master´s house, emptying it in the reservoir in the dark basement. Then he run back up, filled the pitcher in the fountain again, and run back down. He run up and down, up and down, as fast as he could. He ignored the pain in his legs and his empty lungs. He tripped many times and rolled down stony hillsides, but he didn't stop. By his side the titanic construction or granite kept growing, two full lines of arches already built, and the mysterious man was about to finish the third one. Romano felt tears in his eyes, but his feet knew the way between his house and the spring by heart, so he kept running and carrying water. His master's water reservoir had never been so full, because Romano always did the exact minimum he had to avoid trouble, but the kid did not stop and kept pushing himself further, powered by the fear of losing all he loved forever.

Down in the town, something was happening. The people from Segovia, gathered there by Romano´s masters, were marching out through the streets and into the woods with torches, looking for the missing kid. Romano could hear the voices calling for him, and that broke his heart. His master's voice broke his heart more than any other, it was strong and clear, but Romano knew it well enough to feel the terrible anguish that lurked behind its surface. Anguish that he had caused, with his stupidity. He really wanted to throw the pitcher to the ground and run to his master´s arms, but he know that he couldn't, because his master would not see in him the soul he was looking for and would just cast him aside. So he kept running and carrying water uphill and downhill. He kept working even when the darkness of the night started to fade and the blackness of the sky became dark blue. He kept running even when the man in red with the black wings was almost done. He kept running even though he could see that the day would not break soon enough to stop him. He kept working, even though he knew himself defeated, and, when he saw the devil standing on top of his wonderful construction and about to put the last stone in place, Romano´s last thought was that even though he'd have to leave his home and spend an eternity in hell, at least he'd have left a full reservoir for his master, and he would not have to worry about water in days.

  
As that thought formed into his heart, the lady from the chapel appeared again in front of him and with a swing of her pan she batted the sun out of the horizon and into the sky, forcing the night to end minutes before it was due to. The luminous rays hit the demon in red heads on, right when he was about to put down the very last stone of his marvelous aqueduct. The devil screamed in rage and disappeared, letting the stone fall to the ground and leaving his aqueduct unfinished by just one stone.

  
Romano let the pitcher fall and dropped to his knees to thank the lady, who smiled and faded away.

His boss found him at the feet of the aqueduct, curled into a ball. The man run to the serving boy, calling him, and dragged him into a tight hug that got warmth into the poor servant´s frozen bones. The kid shook and hugged back, burying his face in his master's shirt and not bothering to hid his crying. Fuck it, they could see him cry if they wanted to. He had just learned that there were worse things than looking weak. He had just learned that there were worse things than anything he thought he hated before.

“ I was so worried, Roma” the green-eyed teen whispered in his ear, hugging him tighter. Romano nodded, but he couldn't speak. He just clinged to the older boy for dear life and allowed him to shower him with affection and comforting words, keeping each one of them in his heart like a treasure.

“I´m sorry I´ve made you search all night” he mumbled, finally, against his boss´black shirt; because he did mean it “You must be tired”

His master smiled and kissed his tears away

“It is okay, Roma. If it is for you it isn´t even hard. Are you okay?" the kid nodded "are you sure?" He nodded again, separating his body from his master´s chest just enought to let his boss see that he was uninjured, and pressing himself back against him as soon as he could. He didn´t want to let anything between them. Not even air. Not even supernatural piano bastards. He felt a caress in his hair, sweet and gente, and he broke in tears again, so so thankful and relieved to have his boss here "Let's go home, okay? You must be exhausted.”

The kid looked down, but refused to let go. He didn't want to part from that embrace and walk. With a knowing smile, his boss picked him up and carried him in his arms. As he did, the man noticed the wetness of the kid´s pants, of course, but he didn't pull away, repugnant, as Romano had loosely feared he would.

“Let me guess, squirrels?” the young man joked fondly, to lighten up the mood. Romano wrapped his arms around his master´s neck and hid his face in the crook of his neck.

“No." he mumbled, too exausted and too wise after such a terrible experience to lie anymore "I was just afraid that I was going to lose you.”

The young lord didn´t answer, but his eyes wandered over the gigantic, supernatural structure that now cut their city in half. He understood, and hugged his little henchman tighter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aqueduct of Segovia is a second century roman infraestructure that is still in use.
> 
> -Any similarity between this story and the story of the building of the walls of Asgard, and other stories about miracles in which the sun is made to rise early you may find in western France and southern England, is most likely NOT a coincidence. There was a lot of shared influence and culture all along the Atlantic coast of Europe people tend to forget about.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring France and Spain.
> 
> Canonverse, mostly character exploration: A small tragedy. France and Spain talk about love and birds.  
> This is not a legend but an anecdote about a place.

**The Frenchman´s Fountain** (Torrejón el Rubio, by Monfragüe Natural Park)

 

"If it is any consolation, Francis, my people won't forget him, the story is already passing around."

Spain gazed over the Duero. So thin and dry compared to the rivers of northern Europe, so shallow, and yet so full of unexpected strength and wild, dark power. The northerners underestimated the wilderness of Spain's land, they always did. The openness of the fields, the small animals and the blinding sun fooled them. France looked up, at the quick and anxious songbirds that jumped from branch to branch at the death of day. The falcons lied sleeping in their rocky nests over the river, and on the ground the small creatures got a couple of hours of relief before the hunt of the next day.

"This type of stories matter to my people. It resonates with us." The Frenchman just allowed his eyes to travel the skies, following the last lonely falcon who was making its way to the mountain top.

"You have a morbid fascination with death, Spain. You know that? You and your people. You always have." Antonio laughed softly, just a loud breath through his dry lips.

"It is not about death, Fran. It is about love."

"thereis nothing to love in what hasjust happened"

"But there is. You can't say you love something unless you are willing to die for it." France sighed and shook his head, too tired to argue.

"You are insane, Spain. You know that, right? You have always been completely nuts."

"Hm? Maybe. But then, you are too." He buried a hole in France's mask, a light and warm smile still playing on his lips "You just hide it better than me."

"I see nothing romantic in this. It was a pointless death, for a pointless reason." Francis insisted, staring at the horizon, just to avoid Spain´s gaze, determined to prove something unespecific. ANtonio looked at him, lifting a brow.

"Then why are you here, France?" He wispered 2From all places. There is people dying everywhere, from your country, like from all of ours. People dying inside France, French people dying outside...but among all of them, you came to see this kid. Why would the nation of love do that, if not for love?"

France smiled, defeated, and somehow glad about it. His smile twisted in something sad, pride and defenses still in place, even though not as solid as he wanted them to be.

"It was just a bird, Antonio." He told to the horizon " A bird fell into the water and the kid jumped into the river to save it. Your people told him that the river was dangerous a million times before, and he just ignored them."

"It was not just a bird for him. Your man was an ornithologist. Birds were his passion." France almost snorted.

" Passion. I guess you would respect that, wouldn't you? " Spain gave him a little smile, translucent like the dying sunlight, and patted his almost-friend´s back to prompt him to walk back with him towards the village. Their steps lifted small clouds of red dust as they walked between the dark trees. " I bet your people didn´t think that way when my two kids came here; the two french brats that run around chasing after birds instead of doing some real work. How many nicknames did they gave them?" Spain snorted softly, and conveniently chose not to answer the last question.

"Initially, yes. People here really suffered during the war...and here they are, a couple of kids whose parents are giving them money to spend months living abroad and running after birds" The Spaniard smiled fondly and looked at the group of people that waited for them at the entry of the village's cemetery. They knew the kid, loved them in a way. They are gregarious people, in a small place where everyone knows everyone else, so they had truly flooded and packed around the lonely foreigner. France smiled, a little touched himself. They all were in a tight group around the surviving Frenchman, providing as much comfort to the broken kid as they could. They were gregarious people and the two ornithologists had spent months among them. They were a part of the village now, and he knew his people would not have left the young grieving man alone a freaking minute unless asked to(and asked repeatedly). The kid leaned on the landlady that had been hosted them, face pale and eyes opaque. It had been a while now, but nobody should have to watch his best friend drown from the shore without being able to do a thing to help.

"They don't make fun anymore. He showed that he could truly love. That he loved what he did. That makes what he did important. His birds. Now people love birds here in his honor. We respect people who can love and can die for it."

"So, a plaque or something?" France asked, trying to keep himself grounded while fighting the sad laughter from escaping through his teeth. Spain´swords twist a knife in his heart and make him feel exposed, far too exposed for his liking. 

"No. A fountain for the hikers, near the trail"

"The trail where he died? Morbid."

"The trail where he went to observe the falcons. So it is easier to go up and more people can go up and observe the birds he loved" France hummed. It was fitting, in a way. Macabre, from his point of view, but Spain's logic was twisted, it had always been.

The French snorted finally, shaking his head, but Antonio could tell that there was agreement under that gesture. Agreement that France was too afraid to recognize he felt.

"Is that how you did it, Tony?"

"Hm? How I did what?"

"Sweet talk Romano into falling in love with you. Taming that little beast. Did you talk to him about that twisted idea, of love and willingness to die?" Spain laughed softly.

" Of course not. Romano can't be talked into things." He answered in a whisper, his smile getting a new depth  "I showed him. You should know France, you were there. You, and the entirety of Europe, plus  Turkey, were there."

France looked a bit taken aback by what he thought was a-fair- accusation, bitter resentment from the past. But Spain´s smile didn't falter for a second. The air around him continued being as warm as light as a second ago, there was no resentment in his voice, or when he patted his back, getting ready to make his way back towards the village

"You need to visit again Francis, in better circumstances... You and the other kid. We should do some starwatching. The skies are gorgeos in this mountains, by night. Tell the kid that he and his friend are two of our own now. We willtake care of both" With that, the Spaniard disappeared towards the city hall. France was left alone with his thoughts. A fountain by the place where he died then. A fountain by the place where he showed that he really loved.Just because he died. How pointless was that?

Spain might be crazy, but he was also right.

If France had learned something in his long years alive, it was how true love looks like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "La fuente del francés", "The Frenchman´s fountain" is located in Monfragüe National Park, in loving memory of Alain Jonsson, who died on April the 24th, 1979, while trying to rescue a bird that had fallen into the Duero. His body rested in the cementery of Torrejón el Rubio and his grave was taken care of by the local neighbours until very recently.


	3. The Treasure of the Moorish Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canonverse: A treasure spent centuries waiting to be brought to light.  
> Featuring Spain and Romano

**The Hiden Treasure of the Seven Moor Kings.** (Mérida)

 

At the top of the hill there was a strange formation, and nobody knew what it was. It looked like seven thrones, so large and so tall that Antonio felt like a dwarf in comparison.

The young nation could feel that something special had happened there. He felt it in the stones, in the perfect circle among them, and on the joints of the bricks that spoke of a skilled artisan. But which artisan would craft this gigantic stone thrones? And what for?

The people from the town he had just conquered told that those chairs had belonged to seven powerful Moor Kings, gigantic in size and masters of all forms of sorcery. When the people from the half moon came from Africa and conquered this land, the seven powerful kings of their seven powerful trives came to this mountain, racing in giant horses swift like the wind. This kings of phenomenal size had helped theirsubjects to take over the land of Hispania, with their magical powers and theirs spells of drought and wind and storm. Antonio could imagine them, covered in gold and silk as sultans used to be, carrying so many gems on their fingers that one wondered how they could lift their arms at all, dark beards curling proudly and intelligent dark eyes full of magic and secrets. He imagined, morethan recalled, the way in which the people from the south had conquered the gold mines of the goths, and had covered themselves in richness which, as treasures do, made them argue.

Their kings were wise though,much for Antonio´s family disconfort, and the story said that the seven of them created a council to partition de land and resolve their disputes without having to fight. They set their headquarters on top of that hill, and built the stone thrones with their nameless powers and with the strenght of the cristian slaves they found around the valley. From there they ruled their world, gave advice to their people and solved their differences, but most important of all! Here, they kept their treasures, safe from the greed of all other men. The seven wise kings went out in raids against christians, as moors do, and they sailed away to distant lands in Alexandria and India, and came back with mountains of gold and precious gemstones, with crowns and jewels and idols made out of precious metals.Allthis treasures were collected here, in the center of the circle that represented their power. They protected their treasure fiercely with dark magic, and anyone who tried to come close would be turned into stone by one of their powerful curses.

One day though, Antonio had broken through the mountain pass, followed by his men and horses, ready to fight whomever came his way and reclaim the land of his ancestors. Feeling the defeat in the air, the wise kings had swiftly buried their treasures right there in the hill, in the center of the circle that their thrones formed, and had run away thinking that one day they would be able to defeat Antonio, and then they would come back and reclaim their treasure for themselves.

To be honest, Antonio didn't believe any of this, nor did his people. He had fought, befriended, and even courted more than enought moors to have a very good idea of what their average size was, and they weren´t tall like mountains. Besides, even though their skill was remarcable and their swords and craft looked like crafted throughmagic, he was sure that they coudn´t turn people into stone, or he would have been in alot of trouble. However, they didn't have a better explanation for such a marvelous construct, and the ocasional hand of stone people found there, perfect with stone fingernails, unsettled him a little bit.

Antonio sighted, and kicked the soil under him, lifting a little cloud of dust and making two stones roll downhill. He was curious! More curious than afraid. His people was too. They kept trying to dig and finding little treasures, like old coins, or the ocassional and unsettling hand or head of the poor victims of this giants. But no matter how curious Antonio might be, he coudn´t stop here and check if the legend of the treasure was wrong or right. He was not allowed. His bosses had other plans for him. Ambitious plans that kept him bussy every hour of the day and every day of the week, working and fighting like a glorified slave for goals he didn´t always understand. He was not owner of himself anymore. He had never really been.

The nation sighed one last time, said bye to whatever was hiding there, and turned around, heading towards the city so he could reunite with the rest of the army that was resting in Mérida, and get ready to continue the march. Maybe some day, when he had aminute, he could come back. Right now he had been called to arms. News had come from Colon's second trip and, even though it didn't seem that there was much in the New World who was worth the trip, he had the duty to explore and if possible keep an eye on those guys so things went smoother than the first time. Plus, Austria needed saving, again, and his new German king needed him to fight for God knows what relative of his God knows where in Germany too. There was no money or time for legends, for magic, or for wise moors in thrones of stone. The marvels Antonio longed to discover would have to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Because there was always something else to do.

Because Austria was always in trouble, and because it turns out that Germany was his issue now, even if he didn´t care.

Because his king´s grandma had left him some lands around Gante and now they were for Antonio to protect.

Because.

Because he was never ruler of himself, and he was starting to believe he would never be.

His curiosity, along with his joy faded as he was pased around foreign families and ambitious kings like an exotic toy. He saw Empires rise and fall, He was himself one of them. He saw his grumpy heart stolen, returned and taken away from him. He saw the arrival of the twentieth century, and finally, he saw a curious man from Madrid with the funniest hat and the thickest mustache in miles walk towards the sacred meeting place of the seven Moorish Kings.

Spain was curious. Well, he was actually furious and bitter because he had just came from a world meeting and seen Romano being treated like crap in favour of Veneziano,  but since Romano had asked him to not intervene Antonio coudn´t afford to be furious and had to distract himself by being something else. So he was curious. The funny man talked to Spain´s boss about the circle, the legends, the magic, and all of a sudden the child Antonio had been came back to life, ready to take this little revenge against the fate that had taken his childhood from him. Did he get to look for the treasure now?

Antonio stared expectantly while the moustache man gave a long speach, using every long word in the dictionary, until the boss of the week gave in at least, and granted the man in the hat and behind the spectacular locks of facial hair both permission of money to dig around the gigantic stone chairs and finally figure out what they were supposed to be! One of thos elittle things Antonio had not been allowed to do one century after another. Antonio´s heart beat faster. This would be great to forget about the cold he was catching, about the political climate, about how badly England and Germany were screwing up without realizing -or listening to thosewho did-and about how worried he was for Romano. Antonio joined the bunch of workers with his shovel and his hat, ready to work day and night, to scape his problems, and maybe to find a treasure! What treasure? Well, a reason to keep living would be great as a treasure to find, but he didn´t have such high expectations.

The mistery was resolved little by little. First, the workers found that the tilt continued in a perfectly straight tamp of stone continuing each of the thrones. Then, they discovered that all of them seemed to converge towards a center, forming a ring of stone. Antonio could smell joy and blood in the ancient layers of dirt as they kept removing them to show the tamps that lied underneath. The seven chairs continued down in a succession of smaller benches, perfectly preserved, and among statues and bits of arches. By the end of the titanic works, Antonio´s people had unearthed a complete Roman theater, with amphitheater and Colisseum attached to it. A piece of the inheritance that Rome had left for Hispania, and that now was cattered and burried across the most remote corners of hisland. The beautiful theater, with all its statues and luxuries, turned out to be a prize to his soldiers who had fought in the Cantabric wars centuries ago. The chairs turned out to be the eroded leftovers of the seven higher rows of seats of the theater!

No other nation had a Roman theater as well preserved as this one!

It was an archaeological sensation of the time!

People run in circles and pulled at their hair and congratulated Spain in more languages than he could even understand. Classical Rome was fasionable again! And a small roman-craze swipped across the wealthy classes of Europe, making Italy the hottest thing again. Veneziano was showered in praise and tourists more than usual. Donatives were offered to Spain so he could take proper care of such an amazing inheritance despite of his sad situation. But as usual, Antonio had another plan. He had another plan for the building the second he realized what it was. Great plans. He had been promised treasure, and he was gettint it.

So, in the middle of the frenzy of the announcement, Antonio nodded politely at the nations congratulating him for his newfound inheritance, smiled thankful to the representatives of international universities, and the moment he could he sneaked out of the building and down the corridor. He walked the streets until he found his target, the royal theater. There was a lovely lady there he needed to talk to. For his plan to work, Antonio needed big soft boobs. He didn't have any of his own, but he knew of someone who did and would be glad to help him.

Two days after he and his secret weapon was in the office of the director of the excavation, with his most charming grin on his face and an offer the director woudn´t be able to reject.

"Are you out of your mind??" The funny man screamed, hands in the air and moustache shaking in rage. Antonio smiled inocently and shrug his shoulders.

" Why not?"

"Do you understand the concept of restauration of patrimony? Do yougrasp the first thing of it?"

"Well, yes. It´s a theater, right? One can´t say it´s restored it there are no plays going on in it."

"Dear Antonio, I don't think you quite grasp the concept of ´ruins´here"

"You said it was in great condition."

"Well, for being two millennia old, yes, it is, but that does not equal usable!"

"Oh, c´mon, Sir! We´ll figure something out! We always do!"

"Look, Antonio, I know that you are excited but-nobody performs actual plays in their Roman theaters for God´s shake!"

"Well, nobody ever did something has never stopped me from trying and finding a way. You are a historian my friend! You should know that" Antonio informed with false innocence.

Excited? P-lease! He was a former Empire. His plans, his thoughts, were always more complex than just childish excitement. Ah...people were so easily fooled by his smile, it got depressing sometimes. He was excited, sure, but he had set his mind to returning the theater to use since the last international meeting, when the excavations weren´t nearly half done yet.

In the last international meeting the two large blocks of international relationships were already visible, with England, Germany and France butting heads over their colonial power in Africa, and Feliciano all over Germany. Romano had been sitting in a corner of the room. Since the (Spain suspected, forced) unification with his brother, Romano had become darker, quieter, and more bitter, as if resigned to disappear. Spain would never know what happened during that unification, or what went on in the house of the two Italies. Romano was too proud and would never say a word, but he did know what was going on in ROmano´s heart. His silence, his gloomy attitude, the way in which he stayed away from all groops and tried to fade into the shadows of the wall, choosing to be forgotten before someone could force him into oblivion, while still glancing around in secret, desperately hoping to be noticed by someone, by anyone, just to be let down again. He knew his friend far too well, his sadness, and his feeling of being invisible in the international stage...The way those strange eyes were loosing their fire...It broke his heart.

Spain blinked, and redirected his thoughts to the present before his impulses of burning everyone responsable of Romano´s pain to the ground took him over. He didn't want old habits involving pole-axes resurfacing. Instead, he smiled brightly at the director of the excavation.

 

"I understand your concerns, but there is someone who wants to talk to you about this. She has a plan to re-enact classical Roman and Greek plays, and she really wants to show her ideas to you!"

The academic opened his mouth to protest and declare, yet again, that nobody was reenacting anything in the invaluable archeological ruins, and that no other nation had been insane enough to even try.

Ah! But, before the very reasonable and gray man could finish his very reasonable and gray argument, Antonio´s secret weapon kicked in. The actress of the moment, the queen of the Spanish theaters at the time and a woman to behold entered into the room dressed in a red roman dress, all silk and soft fabric that hug her sculptural figure. She smiled at the man, letting her black curls escape the roman hairdo she was wearing and bounce over her shoulders. She explained how important it was for her to perform in his city, and how she had everything figured out. The determination of the very gray gentleman shattered and turned into colorful fireworks. Permission granted. Antonio smirked with the satisfaction of a mission almost accomplished. Looming civil war and painful fever be damned.

Outside, his beautiful weapon and him shared a cigarrete under the moonlight, lost in the contemplation of the theater´s dark outlines against the stary sky.

"Why do you care so much?" She asked him "Is it the international publicity?"

"Hm. Partially."

"International recognition?"

"Partially."

"And the other part?" Spain just winked an eye.

"I'd like to keep that part private."

" Give me a clue."

"Loyalty."

"Loyalty or love?" The nation smiled softer than heentended to. The acress smiled knowingly, and returned her gaze to the stars.

 

There were some logistic difficulties, of course, but just as Antonio predicted they figured themall out. The initial resistance and horror of academics soon became blind excitement, and by the inauguration time everybody was talking about it, and all sorts of distinguished figures of the worlds of politics, history and art were elbowing eachother for the honor to attend. The Italian ambassador got the first human invitation, of course, and among countries everyone understood which one would be invited for sure. In the next world conference the deed was known, and nobody looked surprised when Antonio stood up and asked for a minute to solve a personal issue and oficially invite one of the nations to attend.

Italy jumped up on the chair enthusiastically, and after a bit of dramatist assured that, even though he would have to do wonders with his very busy schedule, he would always find a moment for his dear big brother Spain.

Antonio let him finish, and tried to be as gentle as possible.

"Sorry, Feli, but I was actually not referring to you…"

"Ve?"

"Don´t be ofended, please, but... Since it is a Roman theater, and it is a Roman play...My people would be really honored if Italy Romano could come instead of you; I mean, if he doesn't have other plans. If he does, we will understand."

"Oh", well, I guess…" Feli´s voice was turned out in the background, lost to Antonio. His eyes were stuck on two cheeks quickly turned from unhealthy white to scarlet. From his little, dark corner Romano had lifted his eyes in surprise, a tiny, touched smile spreading on his lips as he looked at Spain in a way that made his heart melt and his entire world light up again.

"What do you think, Romano?" He asked, with a light inclination of his body to officialy declare that this was a nation _asking a favor_ from another "Will you honor us? My people and I would really love to see you there"

Romano´s face got even redder, his lip´s twingled, and a little spark of life came back to his sad eyes.Lovino loved complimants, and Spain could tell that whatever was going on in the house of the Italies, it involved him not receiving many. He coudn´t change that, but he could make things better for him, at least outside his home, at least once a year. He could cover his city with Roman motifs and throw a big ass fiesta to digg into that broken heart he held so dear and dig out a smile that had been buried out of sight for far too long.

Romano´s lips curled slightly up. He looked at his former boss with soft eyes, full of unspoken things only Spain knew how to read.

_You remember me. You still think I count._

_Of course I do. I always will._

"Y-yeah, I will have to check my schedule, but- I can make some room, I think." the said, so soft and sweet nobody believed it was him.

Antonio felt his heart flutter just by looking at that tiny smile full of resurrected hope that months prior seemed to be buried down foreverand lost to the world. he legend was true, The seven Moor Kings had left there the most wonderful treasure for him to find. If they ever came back to his land, he´d make sure to thank them, even if they didn´t get to take Romano´s smile. That treasure was his now, and he´d defend it with his life if he had to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Roman Theatre of Mérida, Spain, was built around the year 15 bC . It is the only one in the world who got his original function back. The Classical Theatre Festival of Mérida is a yearly event hosted there, in which classical Roman and Greek theater plays are represented inside the Roman Theater. Only the best actors participate in it, and being invited to perform in this plays has become one of the greatest honor a theater actor can receive in Spain. The festival has had 64 editions so far. Speaking with the tour guide I found out that the Italian embassador, (and in my head, Romano) are invited (and attend) every year.


	4. The Company of Paining Souls (Lorenzana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the night in which the Company of Paining Souls roamed the streets. Romano knew not to go out or open the door past midnight, no matter what the tricky souls said. The undead are very persuasive though...
> 
> Featuring Antonio and Romano.  
> Warning for mentions of child abuse, and for no beta.

**The Company of the Aching Souls** (Lorenzana)

 

Full moon. Roaring winds. Cold winter night streatching into the sun lands.

It was the night in which the Company of Aching Souls roamed roads and streets, looking for the souls of those dumb enought to be outside or to let them in.

Romano knew not to leave the house no matter what, and never to open the door. Never. He knew that the procession of souls from purgatory may use any  trick to try to get you to let them in. They might lie, plead, offer pressents, shape-swift...anything to take in the gullible and weak of heart and make them join their sinister march until the end of the days. He had known about them all his life, so he thought he knew better than to be tempted. He did not expect that they would use such a compelling image to get him to open the door. His best friend, and not so secret crush, and the sweetest boy on Earth, frantically knocking on the door and calling his name in complete panic.

Romano bit his lip and shivered, every inch of his skin curling in horror at the pained sound in Antonio´s voice. Every fibre in him wanted to open, to protect him, to do anything it took to make the pain in those green eyes he saw through the keyhole go away. He couldn't though. He knew that it was a trick, even if Antonio looked so real under the light of the single candle that illuminated Lovino´s front porch. Romano took a deep breath. He could even smell the flower and sweet bread scent that always followed the baker's son. Antonio´s brow and lip were split and oozing small amounts of blood still, as Romano had feared that they would be after the bastard that was his father entered stumbling in the small house that Antonio and his family shared. His left cheeckbone was bruised green and purple, and his eyes...oh Lord, his eyes looked as if the devil himself was out for him.

_The devil is out for him. He is outside, on Soul´s night!_

No! No, that wasn´t right. This was just a trick from the souls to get him to open the door. Why would Antonio be out past midnight, on a full moon? Everybody knew not to even be awake those nights. Even the drunk and desperate knew to get home before midnight and lock every door and window! Being out was insane. Had the drunken, wife-beater, piece of scum of his father kicked Antonio out? In such a night?

 

"No. No, it is a trick, it is a trick" Romano repeated to himself, closing his eyes and hands squeezing his clothes to keep them away from the door´s lock. He should walk inside, to the kitchen with his family, or to his room with his brother, but his feet refused to move.

"Roma!" the voice-oh the voice that was always so filled with calm and sunlight sounded so broken and desperate- called him, screamed, not giving a rat's ass who else he would wake up, not even in that night"Roma! Open the door! Please!"

 

Romano squeezed his eyes and clenched his teeth, trying to ignore his heart´s impulses and cling to his last shreds of logic. This was not true Antonio, he coudn´t be. The baker was a monster. He had been a monster before his wife died, he had been a monster before his eldest was taken by the Company of Souls, and after it all he became even worse. But risking sending his kid straight to purgatory by condemned souls and monstrous ghosts sounded too horrible even for him to do! Then, a terrifying thought crossed Romano´s mind. Maybe the baker had heard about the kiss.

Lovino´s blood abandoned his skin, his legs refused to hold him straight anymore. Oh God, could that mosnter have heard about it? Could he really have doomed his son to hell for it?

It had been a closed mouth little kiss. A chaste, innocent thing, even if it had meant the world to them, stolen in the stables of Romano´s father on that same morning, while Antonio was tending the horses to get some extra money. Romano had been thinking about it for weeks before he got the courage to actually do it. He had sneaked out of bed early. He had made his way to the stables when he thought nobody but his hard working friend would be up to see. He tiptoed unnoticed towards the working boy and kissed him quickly on the lips. Then he had run away before his friend could even know what hit him. Romano had flown out of the stables and upstairs into the house, expecting thunder and lightning and divine rage to fall over him for doing such an unholy thing, and for meaning it so much.

No thunder and no storm was unleashed outside. All he got from behind the closed door that communicated his house with the stable was silence. When he gathered enough courage to look back and peek through the door frame and back at the stable he found Antonio's eyes looking straight at him, because the bastard knew Romano so well that he knew he'd come back. Antonio was waiting, and when Romano opened the door he smiled. He smiled a smile that was meant to be reassuring and normal, but was a bit smaller than usual because it was suddenly shy, but hopeful, and happy, and those eyes were so soft and full of sunlight. Romano´s heart had swollen with happiness when he understood what was written in them. He had forgotten the fear of divine punishments. HSince then, and for some blessed hours, he forgot arranged marriages and parents and everythingin between,because he had just kissed Toni and Toni had liked it! There was an unspoken promise in their smiles when Romano closed the door again and left Antonio to his chores as he sneaked back to bed before anyone suspected. Someone did suspect though. Romano didn't know how, but his parents learned about the kiss. The silent promise for the evening was not fulfilled, of course. He couldn't sneak out to see Antonio before dawn, he instead had the biggest the ugliest family argument he could even imagine. That is why his family was all at the other end of the house, and he had been here by the window. That is why they were all awake even at midnight, even on that day. Screaming af your disgrace of a son took a long time, it seems.

What if Toni´s father had heard about it as well? Maybe that is why he looked so badly hurt right now, more than usual. Maybe the baker heard about the kiss and the smile, and he had kicked Antonio into the street at midnight during the night of the Company of Souls on purpose! Maybe it wasn't a trick of the souls, maybe it was real Toni in real danger out there! The bakerwas a monster! He might do that! "Roma! God Roma! Open! Please! Get out!" The voice reached him, the smooth suave taint completely wrecked by panic.

Lovino spied those big green eyes that were filled with absolute dread and forced himself to keep his hands away from the door handle. It was a trick. It was night of the souls today. He should not be awake to start with, his family should be asleep before midnight to avoid this temptations, but there had been a terrible fight that night, and they had all ended up unable to sleep, and- A hit on the window. Lovino caught a flash of Antonio´s face through the curtains. His face looked absolutely terrified as he watched at some point past Roma and before the Spaniard could even step away from the window Romano found himself yanking the door open and letting his friend in, souls from he'll be damned! He'd rather risk spending an eternity of pained wandering over the Earth as a tormented soul than to risk dooming the sweetest person on Earth to that fate!

The freezing wind snapped him on the face. He smelled the pestilence of the grave hitting his nose and heard the door behind opening too. He had made a mistake and now his family was doomed too! Thank God they would see on time and- He wants´t pushed into the house as he expected. His soul was not taken from his body and swirled around in a blasphemous twister of madness and confusion. He felt a very solid, very strong and real hand grab his forearm from outside the house and yank him out so hard that his feet left the ground. He stumbled forward and landed against a warm, solid, very alive chest. Antonio´s chest.

The other boy held him there as if he was never going to let go. He grabbed the Italian's shirt with strong fingers, threw his own cloak over Romano, and slammed the door of the house shut again. He dragged Romano away fast. As fast as he could. Fast enought to escape danger, but not before Romano had time to see what was now entering his living room. Behind him, under the frame of the door that communicated living room and kitchen was a ghostly procession of half rotten, translucent bodies, with a skeleton carrying a wooden cross at the head. His father and mother, now pale and translucent too, and his little brother, were at the forefront of the column, walking before the entranced form of one of his servants. He then realized that the stink of open graves he had smelled a second ago didn't come from the street, but from behind him, from his own house.

 

"Mom!" he cried out, eyes wide in horror when he recognized his family joining the march of ghosts. He tried to escape Antonio´s grip and stumble to open the door of his house again and reach his family, but Antonio wouldn't let him. The elder boy´s hand was on Romano mouth before he could even call his brother´s name. Antonio´s arms were like iron chains around him as he lifted him from the ground to keep him from going anywhere. The kid run back stumbling and crossed the narrow width of the street, getting both of them into his father´s bakery and closing the door. Antonio´s movements were too forced and too quick, and just after the door was shut and secured he tripped and fell on the ground, taking Romano down with him.

The younger boy fought to free himself, kicking and trying to bite Antonio´s hand off his mouth, but the Spaniard din´t let him go no matter what he did, holding him tighter and tighter against his chest.

 

"Let me-mf!-go! I have to-"

"You can't, Roma! It is too late!" The struggle continued, while Antonio did his best to explain himself. "I saw Feli open the back door from my window. They-they showed him some pasta he had never tried and-" he whispered as he wrestled with Lovino "I´m sorry I didn´t make it there on time. I tried. I really tried…You can't help them Roma. You can´t. It is too late!"

 

Eventually reality downed on Romano, and he broke down crying, clinging to Antonio´s ragged shirt for dear life, while his friend held him close to both comfort him and keep him from opening the door and going out. "I´m sorry, Roma. I can't let you open. I'm so sorry. I really am..." While Romano cried his eyes out, Antonio observed through the dirty window of the bakery how the procession of souls spread all through the Vargas´s house, taking everyone in it, and then walked back out in two orderly columns, calling everyone, knocking on doors to try to trick those who were still awake into opening their houses for them. Antonio heard them call his name. He heard their promises of sweets and new horses and a safe house to live in, where nobody would ever hit him anymore, but he didn't listen. He just tightened his hug and stroked his friend´s hair. He had everything he needed in his arms right now.

The only thing that worried him was to not fall asleep. If his father wake up from his drunken slumber and found Lovino here-worse, if he found them both like this- they were both death. Quite literally. They would be beaten to death in very clear and non supernatural terms. So he had to keep an eye open all through the night to make sure to get Romano out the second the sun rose and the prophane horrors vanished back into their graves. Maybe he would return Romano to his home. Roma had a large inheritance now after all, his father had horses and lands, he'd be alright. Maybe Antonio would run away himself after doing that, to avoid causing Romano more problems. Everyone knows that The Company looks for sinners and-maybe they had showed up at their village because of what happened this morning. Antonio had loved that, he-he didn't want to leave, not now! But it was the best. If he disappeared in the early dawn everyone would assume that the Company had taken him too. They would not search for him. Maybe that would be a good plan... Or maybe-Maybe Romano would want to come with him. He would never ask such a thing from him though, but-

He shook his head to get stupid illusions away from it. He'd leave his friend at home and then leave, when the sun rose. Until then, all he should focus on was on comforting the crying boy in his arms and on ignoring the voices of the death that would keep calling his name through the night. 

One of the souls turned her head, attracted by the boiling hate darkening the heart of the boy at the other side of the door. Antonio met her eyes byt clenched his teeth and just helf his friend close, hiding his face by Romano´s crying body.

"Toni-"

"It´s Ok Roma. I´m here. It will be okay." Antonio was quite certain of his own ability to spend the night awake and still not give in to any of the monster´s temptations. There was nothing they could promise him to make him open the door, he had everything he wanted in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know that Romano will have something to say about Toni´s plan tomorrow though !  
> Dedicated yo Yuri_Isthar! This time it was not Romano the one who did something stupid ;)
> 
> -The landlady in my hotel swore that she knew a boy in the village who was supposedly taken by The Company. She also said that people suspected that the kid was actually killed by his father, whom was a piece of work and who would have hiden the body somewhere. It was the civil war so there was not much law enforcement around to check the story. As you notice, Antonio´s family life is based on said boy´s.  
> -If you think The Company sounds similar to the legends of the Wildhount ...you are totally right.


	5. The Moorish Flagstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is truce between the Muslims and the Christians of the valley of Guada! To seal the truce kings and nobles from both kingdoms decide to share a joint celebration, in which Christian prince Lovino meets Muslim prince Antonio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning/apology: I am a bit unconfortable using the term moor tbh. I tried to doge it but in some cases I just coudn´t because there is no equivalent to the ancient use of it. The term "Moor" was used as a way to refer to "the other" in medieval and early modern Spain, and later as a loose term to refer to race-religion-culture-language all into one but none specifically, a bit like"Latino" is used now in USA. It was never despective or a slur, but it may be seen as such now in the anti-muslim climate we live in, so it may make some people unconfortable. I´m sorry.

**The Moorish Flagstone** (Rodellar)

 

 

The war against the moors had been long and bloody. The Christian king's army was exhausted, and the population and cities begged for a peace their lords had refused to give them. To make things worse, the old king was getting to old to lead his troops personally and neither one of his sons had half of a backbone for war. 

  
"Ah!" The poor man lamented "If only one my sons was not a complete coward…!"

But they both were.

Feliciano and Lovino had the heart of a chicken. They would not approach a Moorish soldier even at a yard´s distance.

"If only one of my sons was half as brave as that moor prince everyone talks about..." he whined, staring at the cross of his chappel.

But neither of them was, and it seemed to the king that both boys grew more coward and weak each day. So, finally, he pushed his pride aside and asked their Muslim neighbours for peace before all their kingdoms were thrown into rebellions and ruin.

The Muslim kings of the area were as war-exhausted from the sustained war effort as their counterparts, and also had their own, terrible warfare against each other to worry about. The second the offer of truce came from the north of the valley they agreed to it wholeheartedly.

A wind of joy and relief swipped throughboth lands, and commoners sighted in relief and thanked their gods in the sky. To make things official both sides decided to celebrate the end of bloodshed-even if temporary- with a a week´s long festivity in the Christian King´s castle, meant to bring both peoples together. Every single nobleman or woman in the valley was scheduled to attend this glorious celebration, andLovino, the eldest of the two Christian princes, knew that there was no way on Earth he'd be able to avoid socializing this time. Feliciano was delighted with the prospect of a week long party in which their home would become noisy, dirty, and full of strangers with turbants and weird swords, but Feliciano was an idiot who everyone loved, so he didn´t count.

On the first day of the festivities, Prince Lovino found himself standing by his father and gazing at the endless parade of unfamiliar characters that were flooding in and being welcomed into their castle. Arabs, Syrians and even Berbers left their weapons outside the door  and walked in, in their colorful outfits and flashy silks that caught Lovino´s fashion sense offguard and filled his heart with envy.  
The stubborn prince was determined to not be impressed by the flamboyant wealth of those godless barbarians though. He welcomed everyone along with his father, as he wasmeant to do, and fought to keep his face aloof and neutral despite de wonderful jewels and exotic fabrics from india that paraded in front of him. He was doing a great work about looking grumpy and displeased, until _he_ walked infront of him.

The young moor prince might have been wearing silks and ambers like everyone else, but Lovino didn´t see those; all he saw were to two green eyes, deep like the sea, playful like the breeze.  
  
Lovino felt inferior the very second he looked at him. He was effortlessly comanding, strong and tall, everything Lovino was suposed to be and had failed to become. The christian prince straightened and closed his fist around the hilt of his sword to look more respectable, even though he had no idea of how to use it. He made sure to make sure through his body language that he was not there to make friends with infidels, but the moor just smiled at him, amused, and continued on his way.

As the man walked away, Lovino recogniced the coat of arms embroided on the back of his clothes.

 

"Oh, fuck me" He growled. He was _that_ princeeveryone talked about.The soon-to-be king, the battle profigy, the son his father wished he had. He was tall, strong, fierce, smart as a leader and fearless as a warrior, or so was said. People said that he even knew dark magic, that he was so strong that he could cut rock with his hands, and that on top of it all he was an excellent craftsman. Really, how much can a single person fucking suck?  
Of course, Lovino´s father was not the only one who spoke in awe of the bastard.

Lovino determined that he had the christian dutty to hate that bastard with all the strenght of his blood. It was a vocation almost. In fact, he was going to spend the next week bitching about how such a murderer was allowed in their halls. Decided!  
Happy to have a planand someone on which to focuss his bitterness, Lovino forced himself to ignore the green eyes and their owner, and hid behind Feliciano´s constant chatter.

 

During the endless dinner he forced himself to remain silent, dark and invisible. It was easy. Being ignored was his secret power, it came from sitting by Feliciano, nobody would look at you twice. Infalible. By the time of desserts some moron or another decided that it was time to play riddles. It was supposed to be a traditional "Arab thing" Whatever. Lovino was good at that. He considered himself smart, even though nobody wanted to hear what he had to say anyway, but still he had planned on remaining as silent and anonymous as before. It´s not like he thought that he was going to mess up and everyone in the room was going to stand and point at him and laught their asses off...but why risk it?  
The minutes dragged themselves agonizingly slow, one after the other. The level of the competition was so low that Lovino found himself rolling his eyes in far too many ocasions. When an agonizing hour of drunken idiots struggling to solve stupid riddles had gone by, the game started to get a bit more competitive, and Lovino started to get a little more interested in the conversation.

  
The green eyed Arab had been silent on his own for most of the time too, but he had grown bored of the low level of thecompetition and chose to elevate it a little on his own.

"I can target without eyes. I can hurt without moving, and I can poison without touching. What am I?"

 

He left everyone silent.

The knights of Lovino´s father looked at their food in embarrassment, trying to become invisible, and the moors laughed discreetly behind their hands, elbowing eachother. The green eyed prince was sporting a cocky grin already, warm, but a bit too amused for Lovino´s liking. He didn´t wantto answer, or lsiten, but he coudn´t help it. This one, this particularriddle in fact, sounded as if it had been tailored for him.

 

"A word" he stated in the silence. All eyes turned towards him. He flushed, cursing everyone´s idiocy, but forced himself to look up and into the other man´s eyes. "You are a word".

  
The moor prince turned towards him, surprised, as if he had forgotten that Lovino ever existed until that very instant. Their eyes locked, and neither was able to look away from then on.

“You are correct, ” He said, his voice raspy with the golden sands of the dessert, his grin fading to give way to something more intense.  
“I know.” Lovino answered, swallowing the lump in his throat and hiding his fluttering heart under a facade of aloof indifference. “My turn, I guess?”

The moor prince nodded, suddenly interested.

"A man knew that he was going to die! Lovino started "When his body was found in the fields a little later he hadn´t been killed by any weapon, he wasn´t sick, and there was no man or creature near by who might have killed him. What happened?

The green eyed prince smirked, as if that questions was far too easy.

"He was in a burning tower. He jumped off it."

"Correct" Lovino growled "Your turn."

"There is a balance" the man started, his smile getting brighter and excited, "a bottle valances a jar. A dish and a cup balance a jar. Three dishes balance two bottles. How many cups would it take to balance a jar?"

"Three" Lovino answered, dismisively. The moor princ lifted his brows in an adorable face of surprise.

"I thought that Chrisitans coudn´t do algebra".

"Well, I can." Lovino growled, blushing.

"You are very smart".

 _Enought_! Lovino thought. he was not used to compliments. He craved them far more than he would ever admit, but hehadno idea of what to do when they were given to him. He growled and looked as if he had just bitten into a lemon instead.

"It´s always under a roof, but it is always wet. What is it?"

"Hm...the tongue?" The moor guessed after some thinking. Lovino nodded.

"Your turn"

"Before the mother is born, the son is already walking"

"Fire and smoke." at this point they had both forgotten that they were not alone in the room. "The faster you run from it, the fastest it catches you, what is it?" The arab smiled sweetly.

"Guilt"

Lovino nodded. They went back and forth at each other, neither giving way. Eventually the rivalry had become so fierce between them that the rest of the guests was afraid to even breathe. The Moor prince leaned forward, eyes burning and stare straight in Lovino´s eyes

"Why do Archers close an eye before shooting?" Lovino was shocked. He really was lost with this one. He tried to think about it, but he had no idea. The moor was staring at him, death serious. With a solemn expression, he declared: "because, if they were to close both, they woudn´t see".

Lovino bursted into laughter. A laught fromthe belly, unexpected and forced out by the surprise. The tension of the room was shattered into dust, while the green eyed man smirked, satisfied observing his work as the younger man laughted. If the christian prince was asked topoint out the exact moment in which he fell in love with his rival and enemy, he would point at this one.

Fromthen on, not a moment went that they were not together. It started discrete, as a preference while speaking with people in the large hall, but it soon became obvious. 

Lovino showed his favorite books to the Arab and was surprised about the appreciation and sensitivity he showed. The green eyed prince introduced his new friend to his beloved horses, and was surprised at how quickly the hot-blooded animals came to trust Lovino.

 

“The white one really likes you.” The tan man joked with the christian prince, who was caressing the animal's forehead. “He is usually scared of everyone but me.”  
“He has better taste than the others.” Lovino teased, sticking his tongue out to the black horse that was enjoying his owner´s caressing on that warm evening.  
“Animals are good at judging what is in the hearts of people.”  
“Is that part of your dessert-barbarian crappy wisdom?”  
“Well, if it isn't part of your mountain-dwelling wisdom too I must question your judgement.” The Arab retorted lightly, making Lovino smirk and shake his head.

"I like them too"

"Hm?"

"Animals" Lovino clarified "They have no expectations, they don´t say crap behind your back. They just want to be loved." The Arab smiled, endeared and sad at the same time.

"And we take advantage of that."

"You really don´t like getting them into battles." The christian prince guessed, looking at his companion sidewise. The other smiled, confortably busted, blushing a little around his nose.

"But what option do I have?" he sighed. Lovino felt a protective instinct overwelming him, and an army of butterflies taking his guts over.

 "You have a gentle heart. " He heard himself mumbling. The other prince didn´t even seem taken aback by such an overestep, quite the opposite. He looked back at his partner and smiled, vulnerable, and shaken, and so different than how the gowns and robes and golden swords made him look.

"So do you" he wispered, something nameless fluttering in the air.

 

More days of guests partying and of the two princes spending time in Lovino´s room, in the stables, or in the quiet corners of the great hall went by. Lovino confessed that he didn´t know how to use a sword and the one in his belt was just for show, the green eyed Arab confessed that he was terrified of small spaces, and that he even cried when he felt like his horses didn´t like him. Lovino talked about how useless he felt and how nothing he did seemed to matter, of how sometimes he felt like not even being alive did. The other confessed that he felt like people only cared of what he could do for them, that he felt that the second he made a single mistake, or got wounded and unable to fight anymore, everyone would abandon him forever.Lovino said that he got some guilty pleasure from screaming at people and feeling powerful. Antonio confessed that he loved puppies and birds. "Lovino was vain and loved clothes and looking elegant. Antonio obsessed about his honor and reputation up to unhealthy levels. They both liked horseriding, reading, and cooking, but only Lovino dared to cook; Antonio was too afraid of being perceived as "feminine". They both played string instruments. They both forgot that time existed when looking into eachother´s eyes. They both felt like they wanted to be close to the other forever. By the middle of the week Antonio knew that he had never felt so accepted by anyone, and Lovino knew that nobody else could make him laught so much.   


 

On the day before the end of the celebrations, when the Arab prince was going to say bye to his beloved friend he saw Lovino slapping one of his guards. Confused, the Arab asked why.

  
“Do you know what this bastard had been saying around?”  
“ No. What?”  
“He, he, he! He said that you! That you desire- He is insulting your honor dammit! And mine! And if I see his ugly face once more-”  
“What if he is right?"

"Oh, Godammit!"

The Arab turned and left calmly from where he had come.

 

The next night, after his prayers, the green eyed prince heard some knocking on the door of his room. When he opened, he found Lovino there, dressed to ride with high boots and sword in belt-the sword the young man had privately confessed to the other that he didn't know how to use. Lovino carried two bags over his shoulder. One was full, the other was empty.  
“You said that wealth and richness are not important to you” the christian spat, nonchalantly, looking fiercely into the Arab´s eyes, “You said that your inheritance doesn't mean a thing for you.”  
“Yes, I did.”  
“Is it true?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well! Mine doesn´t matter shit to me either! So-here!"

"You like clothes, and luxury, and-"

"Fuck luxury! I want you!" He hesitated for a moment, sudenly insecure "You-your honor, and pride, and-"

"Fuck my honor" Antonio said, whole heartedly, unable to believe how much he meant it. Lovino lightened up, brows knitted together in determination.

"Fuck yeah! I´ll get the horses ready. Hurry up! ” he threw the empty bag at the Arab and turned around, but the other grabbed his arm and made him turn again. The Christian prince found himself under the exhaustive scrutiny of those green eyes that seemed to look straight into his soul. They were so serious for once!  
“Are you sure that you want to do this?” The Arab asked. Lovino nodded, almost offended.  
“Yes.”  
“If we leave, we will confirm their suspicions. Do you understand what that would mean?” Lovino yanked his arm free, angrily, and looked at the other with flame and fear in his eyes.  
“Look jackass! I´m a coward, alright? I have spent all my bloody life avoiding fights you know? Avoiding weapons! I am a coward! I am the biggest coward in the fucking world! I am even scared of heights, and blood, and mice for Christ's sake! And I-I-I´m suggesting this, and about to get two fucking entire armies chasing after me! How fucking sure do you think I have to be to do that?”  
The Arab felt a proud, adoring smirk takes over half of his face, and he bowed, kneeling in front of the younger boy.

 

“Very well, my prince. I won't keep you waiting long.”  
“You better don't!” The Christian prince barked, terrified behind his thoughtless act, before disappearing downstairs.  
Less than half an hour later two horses galloped together into the night and across the forests that surrounded the castle. They had to make it out of the valley and across the mountain range of Guada that locked both of their kingdoms before their parents, and armies, found out about it. If they made it past the mountain tops they would be free.

 

The chase started far sooner than what they would have wished. Their long legged horses were fast like the wind and their prosecutors didn't stand a chance to capture them, but that didn't keep them from sending both knights and bowmen after both princes.  
Loving and his soon-to-be lover found themselves under a rain of arrows, a technique perfected by Lovino´s people. Clenching their teeth and eyes, they continued forth, praying each one to their deity for the arrows to miss them.

 

When they had almost made it to the top and were sheltered the strange and twisted shapes of the mountain rocks, he stopped his horse and turned his head just in time to watch his beloved prince drop dead from the horse who stood beside his. The back of his clothes was stained red. A single, solitary arrow had pierced through his back and into his heart.

The Arab prince buried his beloved Lovino there, with his bare hands, making use of the legendary strenght and skill that made him famous all across the world. He no longer interested in making it through the few yards that separated him from the border of their kingdoms and from freedom and life. He dragged large rocks and built a rudimentary mausoleum around his fallen lover, similar to those he had seen christian build for their dead kings. He placed his prince´s body inside, whith wild flowers, and golden jewels, and a kiss. When he was done, he turned around, sword in hand and heart empty, ready to fight the soldiers that had been chasing them. He showed a skill and fury out of this world, while dancing among the blades and arrows, clothes red with his own blood. He looked for death and pain, but before falling he vowed to take every single man, Muslim or Christian, who had bow and arrows down to hell with him-and to hell he would go, fir, after this murderous rampage against both friends and enemies, neither God would have him. Of the two armies that fought the prince only one soldier made it out alive, crawling to the hall and telling the news to their lords, before dropping dead in the entrance of the castle.

  
The broken body of the green eyed prince wasn´t buried or claimed. He was left for the beasts, a stain in their family´s honor  instead of the shining star he had been born to be, but the dolmen he built to guard the body of his lover is still standing by the mountain´s hill, as his last and eternal declaration of love. The locals call it The Flagstone of the Moor. Legend says that anyone who tries to remove it, disrespect the place, or even sell merchandise nearby will be chased and, if not fast enough, beaten to an inch of their life by a ghostly figure in punishment for their disrespect. Which one of the two princes that figure belongs to is unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The Dolmen of the Moorish Flagstone (Dolmen de la Losa Mora) is a Neolithic funerary structure in the Guada Mountains.  
> -Originally in the legend the characters were king and princess of course, not two princes. The description of their romance is made up, the story only says that they fell in love and decided to escape...and how it all went.  
> -As you can tell by Antonio´s magical strength, in Spanish legend often "moors" aren´t really "muslim humans" but fairies. Through thecenturies, in legends, both concepts got mixed up and story tellers gave the place formerly occupied by fairy-like-characters to Arab princes and princesses. So chances are that in the begining the story was of the love between a mortal princess and a king of the fairies, which would explain whi he was unharmed by the arrows but she was not  
> -Of course, dedicated to Ice_Flower, who asked for it. There were many stories in the área, I hope you liked the one that I picked.  
> 


	6. The "Moor" Princess of the Ibon-Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spain knows that Romano has some jealousy issues, but this is just ridiculous!  
> Canonnverse  
> Featuring Spain and Romano.

**The "Moor" Princess of Ibon-Lake** (San Juan de Plan)

 

...

"Romano! Let me out!"

"No!"

"By God! Roma! This is absurd!"

"Just in case!"

"I'm not going to marry any Charmed Moorish Princess! Let-me-OUT"

"How do I know that? Huh? You marry anything that moves!"

"Austria was different!" Antonio exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and then slamming them against the door of his room, now turned into his prison. At the other side of the door Romano has blocking the lock, or doing God knows what else to make sure he couldn´t get out, and he knew he was too high to use the window.

"Yeah! And what about Portugal? And Holland! And Netherlands! And Feliciano! And me! And México! And Bolivia! And Chile! And New Granada! And-You are not going out, dammit all!" Romano felt his voice about to crack and decided to end the list of Spain's past husbands, wives, and ex lovers in general half-way through.

He had barely started it and his body was already shaking. So he clenched his teeth, dug his hills deeper into the stone and pressed his back harder against the door. It had been hard times for young Romano, back then. Really hard times. Seeing his boss hang out with that endless string of lovers and spouses, many at a time most of the time. Seeing himself just one of many...and just a minor partner at that, and sometimes not even... It had hurt. Romano´s heart was still scared from those centuries, far beyond repair, even if he didn't want to bring it up and tried to bear the pain and insecurity in silence. He understood that it hadn't been Spain´s fault. It was the way in which the Augsburg made politics, by uniting kingdoms under the same crown dynastic ally, and Spain had been just a property of them to be traded and married to their convenience. He understood...but the memory still burned. It hurt so much! The Hispano-Americans had been the worse. They were married to Spain for more than any other two nations ever had, to his knoweldge. Over four hundred years! And...what was their own relationship compared to that?. Barely three hundred years in which Romano had been a complete brat, followed by silence and distance and-

Romano bit his lip and shook his head. If he allowed his thoughts to continue that way he'll fall into a downward spiral he´ll not be able to abandon in days, and he didn't want that. Because then, he would have to tell Spain, and would make him feel guilty, and Romano didn't want that because those years, those marriages and Romano´s stupid traumas and nightmares were not Spain's damn fault! He had no choice, l dammit! But still... It was beyond his control. He just couldn't push the panic and the pain away, the flashbacks even. He knew he was not being rational, but he couldn't help it. "Romano, you are being ridiculous...again!" "I know!" he barked, because he did know.

"I-am-not-going-to-marry-anyone! And there is a celebration to prepare! I need to purify! Let me out!" "I´ll let you out at noon! Until then, you stay here!"

"She only appears to those pure of heart!" Spain tried to reason, even though it was not in a very reason-friendly voice, more like a roar " I am not pure of heart, just let me out before I knock the door down!"

"You will drop the door on me if you do! Would you risk doing that, huh?"

" Oh! For the love of-"

"Besides, she has appeared to you before! You do have a pure heart, bastard, and we both know it."

"Yes, she has." Antonio admitted. The beautiful moor princess, in delicate silks, that walked out of the Ivone lake with the first golden rays of the sun kissed the water surface, and walked around the villages of the Pyrenees looking for a husband has appeared to Spain more than once, while he was washing his body on the dew fields, in preparation for the night when he and the other young men of the Pyrenee would dance the fire and offer it to the souls of the dead " But I did not marry her, did I? "

"Just in case! You are staying in until the night and that's the end of it!"

The beautiful apparition and her dress of gold and stars didn't just emerge from the water to find men pure of heart that would marry her. She also took them to her cave up in the mysterious hills were druids used to perform secret rites. She married them there and slept with them, and after that nobody saw them again. They disappeared from the face of the Earth, probably taken down to the land of the dead to help the Sun God in his battles in the underworld. Maybe they just died. Nobody knew, and Romano didn't care either, the point is that they might die, and he was not risking it. Jealousy was strong for him, and the scars of the years he had been powerlessly witnessing Spain rotate lovers run deep in him, but that pain he could take.

He was a jealous lover, but he understood that it was his problem to deal with and tried his best not to burden Antonio with it. He usually succeeded. If it was only the fear of Spain cheating, or finding someone else what he dreaded he would never feel entitled to lock his lover up. He had no right to do it. He didn't own Spain and if the man wanted to go off and marry some supernatural princess-well, he had the right to do it. It would tear Romano in half, as it still did every time Spain smiled to anyone else, and he got taken back to those days of misery, but Spain had the right to do it. Romano would accept the pain and take it.

It was not Spain marrying someone else-again- what terrified him to the point of locking his lover up. It was the fear of him disappearing from the world, dying, gone forever at the hands of some supernatural entity of the lakes what Romano couldn't bare. Spain being seduced, abandoning him and being happy with someone else? Romano could force himself to take that, even if he probably couldn´t survive it, even if he knew he would forgive the bastard and let him do it again and again like he had before. Spain being seduced and then being killed?

Nonononono! He didn't mind if he was being irrational, he didn't mind if he was acting like a lunatic once a year. Spain leaving him, fine. Spain being happy withsome supernatural beauty, fine. Spain dying? No. never, never nevernevernevernever! That was more than he could take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saint John!
> 
> Find the Ibon-Lakes of Plan in gmaps if you can, they are gorgeous places!


	7. How to Keep your Rituals, by Francis Bonnefoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France and Spain have been sharing a ritual to help their God in the battle in the underworld since the dawn of times. In the XI century the Pope decides to send Romano to check if the celebration is as Christian as it should be. It isn´t, but they don't want to stop it. Good thing that France has a plan.
> 
> Cannonverse.  
> Featuring Spain, France and Romano  
> This is not exactly a legend, it is just a tradition.

**How to keep your Rituals** (San juan de Plan)

 

Romano entered the grass fields with his head high that morning. He tried to get his awkward thirteen years old body to show as much authority as he possibly could. He was on a mission to the Pope, and most importantly, he had the chance of getting the dirt on both Spain and France and come out like a great nation in comparison, to the eyes of the pope and his grandpa. He would not give that chance away!

 

It was the XI century. The Gregorian reformation was in full swing and the Pope had heard some very distressing rumours about those two hooligans practicing pagan rituals and rolling naked on grass fields. His holiness had some serious suspicions about Spain don't quite grasp the difference between Sun Gods and Christs, not even at this age, and about France grasping it very well, but not giving a fuck when it comes to parting with his sexy neighbour. That pervert! Romano´s face heated up just by imagining that scumbag´s blue eyes running over Spain´s naked body as they both rolled on the fresh grass to purify themselves before the rite, droplets of dew running through tanned skin and-That was unholy dammit! And pagan, but most unholy! And perverted! Very perverted! The only water one should be allowed to purify in was the holy water form a church, dropped by some very ugly priest on people fully clothed! Babies if possible! Certainly not sexy teens stark naked in the middle of the mountain wilderness, rolling on grass or swimming on springs were allowed! 

His underwear was getting a bit tight just by thinking about it, so he scrowled severely at everything around him to compensate.

A hundred feet behind him, France leaned his stupidly grown up human body against a half dressed Spain and whispered in his ear as he looked at Romano from time to time.. They were probably talking about him, Romano thought, but he didn't care! He was there on a mission from the pope and he was going to fulfill it! Their day had barely started, and he already had so much to report!

“We are screwed” Spain declared quietly to his friend, with displeased eyes. It was no secret why Romano was here.“ he won't fall for the trick of moving the right to the backyard of the church. Should we pretend and not do the entire dance this time? Maybe he´ll be tricked by that…”  
“You don´t seem very happy with that idea” France mentioned. Antonio furrowed his brow deeper.

“I am not” As opposed to France, the aspects of the ritual related to sending warmth and hope to those suffering at the other side of death was still important to him, the idea of failing to do so made him beyond restless. Besides, this was his land and his mountain and his backyard! Why did he have to give any explanations to some Pope guy in Rome?

France was studying the situation, or to be precise, he was studying Romano. There wasn´t anything there he didn't know about already though, he was just confirming one of those things everyone knew.

“Oh, well...then don't worry mon ami. I don't think we have to do that.”

“So, war with Rome? ” Spain suggested. “That is a bit too much, don't you think?”

France laughed and shook his head. He  knew that the Italian was listening to them, pretending to be all interested in a bunch of daisies that grew in the middle of the tall grass. France chuckled to himself, sadistically, and leaned closer to Antonio to whisper his plan in his ear. The Spaniard smirked, half interested and half amused, and looked at the other teen.

 

“Oh! C´mon! You are kidding!”  
“I am not” France insisted. Spain looked at Romano, not very discreetly, and then back at his friend.

“He is a kid. I don't think that would work.”

France looked at Romano, reminding himself to not be too obvious with his words since he was probably being overheard, and then back at Spain again.

“Trust me, it will work. He has had a crush on you for forever.”

“He is thirteen, who has crushes at thirteen?”

“Everyone but you?” Spain laughed; France patted his shoulder affectionately “ Trust me, just do as I said.” Spain rolled his eyes with a smile, faking exhaustion, but accepted.

“Okay-But if we are going to try that, shouldn't we start already? That way we can convince him to leave before the really problematic stuff starts”

“Oh, nonono! That wouldn't work. It is better how I said.” Spain looked at France, unconvinced. The plan didn't fully click for him, but he knew that France knew how to handle people, so he decided to follow his lead, for now. After all, there was always time for war if needed.

The two teens looked at Romano, mean smirks in his eyes. The young nation huffed and turned away, too proud for that shit. So, the two sit-eating friends were talking about him, and looking all close and friendly, and being part of some secret he was not invited to share. See if he cared! He was a proper, christian nation who didn't need a thing from anyone! Let alone from Spain! Or the other douchebag! He had no interest in sharing anyone with any of them at all!  
With this thought playing in his head over and over again, and a deep scowl plastered on his face for self reassurance, he devoted himself to observe and take mental note of the developments of the rest of Saint John´s day.

When he had seen all those young French and Spaniards naked in the morning air, France and Spain very much included, dew dripping down Spain's muscles and deliciously tanned skin and he played with the tall grass that grow up to his waist and that was soaked by the condensation of the humid mountain air... Romano just couldn't believe it. He had covered his eyes with his hands immediately, while that pack of idiots sprinkled water to each other with their fingers and wrestled with each other and laughed so brightly nothing else could be heard in the valley-Romano had been looking through his fingers all the time, and his underwear had grown seven sizes smaller with the way Spain´s eyes sparkled with joy and everything else in his body sparkled with water drops, but that was another issue. The point is that, by God, he had a lot to report already. 

 

After the “purifying” rite, the two fifteen year olds and their people dressed themselves with the bare minimum and devoted themselves to collecting branches and wood from suspiciously specific species of tree. Antonio was sweating with the work under the sun, shirt off. Lovino felt his young body enthusiastically cheering for the amazing job puberty was doing with the Spaniard´s form. After such an obscene and clearly unchristian spectacle, France and Spain went each to their side of the mountains, close to the mountain fence that separated their backyards, and put the wood all together on all together on top a hill that rose various kilometers over the river. In some of the hills they were building pyres on the two heathens had bothered themselves with building a hermit, just to keep appearances, but in many they had not even done that. Lovino scowled and followed them, complaining about Spain´s suden lack of interest on wearing a shirt.

 

They both waited until complete dark fell over the land, winking at each other and ignoring Romano as if he was a fly -not that he cared if he had Spain´s attention or not anyway, older kids never pay attention to you if you are younger than them. Which was fine, because he didn't care. He was on a mission. He was also not wondering if Spain was cold, his nipples were hard so the idiot obviously was. Not that Romano was paying attention at that idiot. Why would he? The idiot was clearly too content with ignoring Romano and laughing with his friend in France. He could go to hell. Who needed him anyway?

When darkness fell, they lighted up gigantic fires that could be seen from miles away. They sang and danced around them. They jumped over them, the heat from the fire making their bodies sweat, drops of water dripping down after them too many jumps had happened, just like the dew had dripped in the morning. It was exhausting just to see them, but they all seemed too happy and bright to even feel exhaustion. For a second Romano wished that he could join-that Spain would ask him to-but again, the idiot was too busy dancing with people his own age to notice the dark, gloomy Italian.

 

At midnight they took torches and lighted them on the fire they had been running and dancing around. Then, the whole lot of them turned towards the very dangerous, very dark downhill of the mountain that lead to the river and started a race, torches in hand, running in the dark. Romano almost screamed, those guys were going to trip and fall and die in a ball of fire for sure! But they didn't. The race along with their people, each carrying a torch and after dancing for over an hour. Their race made trails of light in the mountain side, as if the fire was crying and letting small teardrops fall over the river, where the village and the church were. And more importantly, where the cemetery was. For a second Romano feared they would set fire to the church, but what they dd looked worse. They set fire to the graves.

Well, not exactly, it wa s avery organized issue, but it didn´t feel any less wrong to the poor Italian, who was about to have a heart attack. His eyes didn't leave the shinny point in the dark that was Antonio for an instant. The total heathen, and his barbarians entered the cemetery, torch in hand, and much to Romano´s horror gathered all the burning torches into a pyre. In the cemetery. On the graves, and let it burning there, hugging each other´s sweaty form and congratulating each others for the race, as they made their way back up, to keep dancing and celebrating by the main fire all through the night. By the end of it all, Romano was horrified. He had been left alone-and lonely-for the entire festivity, to observe and criticize and make the sign of the cross over himself over and over again, and now that it was all over he was running the heck away and informing the Pop, before any of this heathenism ended up rubbing into him.  
Before though, he wanted to confront those two morons, to give them a piece of his mind. They should be so ashamed of themselves! He would start by teaching them the damn concept of wearing shirts´ and then would pick up from there! Oh, they were so so so busted! 

Good thing that those morons were going towards him, soaked in their own sweat from dancing and running and playing with fire, black strings of ash through their faces and torso, and laughing with sparkly eyes as if they had just had the best time of their lives. He was going to shout at them until the last bit of joy abandoned those stupid, heretic faces!  
He was!  
He was getting a deep breath to ensure the power of his voice! And then Spain spoke faster.  
“Lovi! I was looking for you!” The Spaniard exclaimed, and Lovino kind of forgot about what he was doing. 

 

Spain stumbled forth towards him, pushed slightly by France. Romano noticed France making a gesture to Spain, and winking. He caught some meaningful look between both of them, but then sweaty, half naked, so beautiful with joy that he took your breath  away Antonio hugged him loosely around the neck, and the poor thirteen year old boy forgot how to speak. His mind became unable to retain any coherent thought except for the fire that was running all through him. Spain, the damn, shit eating bastard that had been filling his dreams for far longer that he cared to admit, the total insensitive bastard he couldn't help adoring, the prettiest smile and best ass and biggest heart in the world all combined, was hugging him. Not ignoring him because he was too young. Not horsing around with France and Prussia. No. Hugging him. And to totally eradicate any coherent thought that the poor Italian could have left in his mind, the bastard gave him a noisy, enthusiastic kiss on the cheek.  Just like that. Just like if it wasn´t  a big thing. So noisy Romano couldn't hear his thoughts anymore. They were just made out of star and color now.

 

“Thanks for keeping our secret Roma! You are the best!”

 

And just like that, Spain left along with France, leaving Lovino like a deer in headlights, body tingling and stupid smile forming on his face. He didn't even see the complicit smirk France and Spain gave eachother right over his head, or the thumbs up the blonde gave to his friend as they walked away. All that the poor, infatuated Italian could notice was that his body was too alive, his face on fire, and his blood boiling with far too many embarassing sensations. As soon as his knees felt steady enought he run away from that place, afraid he may give into the embarashing desires he was starting to feel and make a fool out of himself.

 

 _But he said that you are the best!_  

The thought as he run made his face redden even more, and painted a stupid, embarassing, little smile on his face.

 

On his return to Vatican city, the words of Spain, his cheerful tone, his bright eyes when he said that he was the best´, and that kiss on the cheek were still taking over the poor, lovesick teenager´s brain. When the Pope looked down at him and asked him what he had seen all he could bring up to mind was Spain´s naked torso, strong and slender, all covered with sweat and ash, and that huge, childish smile he had when he came back from the race, brighting up the night more than any fire. His underwear grew smaller, even in the damn rpesence of the damned pope, and his cheek started tingling right where Spain ahd kissed.

 

"Nothing strange happened" Romano mumbled, unable to meet his holyness gaze "They...they just celebrate a saint. The regular stuff. Nothing else."

 

The Pope didn´t look convinced at first. He knew that Spain and France could be very persuasive, and very capable of charming his human envoys into going easy on them. But if someone so grumpy and antagonistic like Romano thought that everything was okay, it had to be the case. Right? South Italy was not easy to manipulate, there was no person on Earth who could charm such a ball of resentment and bad temper.

 Ten centuries later, France and Spain are still lighting fires in centered every year, and the poor Pope still does not know.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The celebration is "Las Falletas", on Saint John´s night. it is common to the pyrenees of Spain and France. Nobody knows when the ritual started, but it is for sure pre-roman (some scholars say it is prehistoric). It is still going on every year. it is considered world heritage. Go watch it if you cna is really sexy! I mean...culturally interesting.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, at his return from picking up wood in the mountain, Lovino did not carefully fold his cloak and hanged him a she usually did. He didn't go right way to cook a humble but delicious meal for himself and his family. He just threw his things on the table and run like hell towards Zamora.
> 
> AU  
> Spain, Romano

**The News from the Estadea ** (Zamora)

 

He thought that the pain in his abdomen was nothing to worry about, but it seems that he had been wrong. He had resisted it at first, denied it, tried to fool himself, but the road back home was long and the image had been clear. He wasn´t denying things anymore. He was accepting it. This time, at his return from picking up wood in the mountain, Lovino did not carefully fold his cloak and hanged him a she usually did. He didn't go right way to cook a humble but delicious meal for himself and his family. He just threw his things on the table and run like hell towards the city of Zamora, feeling a courage in him he didn´t know he posessed. He crossed the central square, elbowing his way until he found Antonio among the multitude, carrying his heavy load of fruit to sell.  
Lovino launched himself towards him, no matter who was looking, no matter that they were in front of the church, in front of the priest, of Antonio´s parents, of the entire damn village. He tackled the other and kissed him like his life depended on it, devouring him in a desperate gesture that didn't even give the other tie to react. Lovino didn´t know if the opening in the Antonio´s mouth had been a gasp of surprise or a reaction to him. Probably both. It didn't matter anymore.

“I love you, I love you, I love you. I will always love you. Fucking remember that.” he breathed hurriedly. The pain in his abdomen was great, but for a second he forgot about it.

He freed his victim and run off again, pushing anyone who dared cross his way, back to his house.  
Antonio, an den the entire village, was left at a complete loss of words. The green eyed boy might have gotten in trouble with his neighbours for his participation in that kiss if he didn´t look as honestly shocked and confused as he did. He had no idea of what had just happened. He liked it, he had loved the secretive shepherd since they were kids and his heart was racing madly, but his mind couldn't catch up. He had no idea that-It wasn't meant to- they could be hanged if- What on Earth was Lovino thinking?

 

_The  Estadea looks like a woman with no face. She appears in roads and outside villages to let travelers know that their death is near. If you see her it means that you are going to die very soon._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Yep, Lovi saw the Estadea on his way home. I decided that the cause of death would be apendicitis. He doesn´t know it isn´t a contagious thing, just that he is going to die, that is why he locked himself up.  
> Of course, if it reminds you to a silent version of a banshee...you are right  
> :)


	9. Lovino and the Cats of Madrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: Cityzen of Arab-ruled Madrid, Lovino, can´t sleep. Something supernatural comes to his window.  
> Featuring Antonio and Lovino.

Madrid: **Lovino and the Cats of Madrid**

 

He had tried praying. He had tried walking around. He had tried lying down. He had tried reading, even though that was a waste of oil and his grandfather would be less than happy to hear that he found no better use for such a valuable product than to burn it down on a sleepless night. For Allah that Loving didn't know what else to try! His insomnia, it seems was there to stay. Maybe it was the rumors of war that got him restless.

With a sight, he woke from his bed and walked idly towards the window to open the curtain covering it and look at the sleeping city of Madrid, her tall tower packed with guards, her silent streets, and he solemn walls who sparkled with fire when hit by arrows. Or that was the thought. When he opened the window though he found a huge smile taking over his field of vision. He jumped back, biting in a yelp, stumbled, and fell to the ground. By the time he managed to rise back and blink the last leftovers of his sleepiness away, hoping that the floating apparition would leave with it, he found a green-eyed young man kneeling on his window shelf.

The stranger smiled wide at him, as if being found looking through the window of a third floor by a fortress, clinging miraculously from the small tends of the wall, was the most normal occurrence in life. 

“Hello, my friend!” the green-eyed climbing creature saluted, with a happy and bright smile, jumping to the window shelf for comfort. 

“What are you doing here?” Loving barked, trying to hide his surprise with anger.

“Me? I came to see you, of course” The young man answered smoothly. Loving opened and closed his mouth. 

“Who are you?” He managed to spit, after heroic efforts. The other gave him a charming, feline smile and swung himself in the room.

“I think you know that too.”

Lovino looked down, blushing slightly. 

"Well! I don't!"

" But you do. Look into your heart my friend. Who could reasonably be perched on your window at this ungodly hour?"

Was he sleeping? Yes, either that or something heavy and fallen on his head. He examined the young man in front of him, so perfectly proportioned, who had come practically come into his room by walking on the wall, with strong slender muscles and those eyes who just couldn't be human… 

“A Jinni?” he deduced finally, willing himself to look away and failing. The Jinni chuckled. 

“Exactly! Very smart of you” he agreed, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms “ and I guess you now know why I came, right?”

“You are going to grant me a wish?” The jinni looked a bit surprised, probably due to how fast Lovino had answered. Ha! Did that bastard think Lovino was´t smart? 

“H-hm!” The jinni agreed finally. Lovino didn't need to be said twice, he jumped out of bed. 

“I want a mountain of gold! And I want that blonde idiot who lives across the street to be buried under it, so he dies slowly and painfully while I sit on my gold! And I want-”  
“Hey, hey,hey!” the jinni stopped him “I'm a low class jinni, okay? I can't do all those things. I can only grant you small wishes. Like a dagger, or a sword, or things like that.” Lovino scowled and looked dejected. What kind of luck was his? He got a super sexy jinni, and he had to turn out to be a third class peasant who couldn't even\- The mysterious man must have read his mind though, or maybe he was remembering the way in which the young, sleepless Arab had checked him out shamelessly when he irrupted in his room. Either way, the stranger smirked in a way that wouldn't mean anything good. “.or a kiss. I can give you a kiss, too. What do you say?” 

Jump off the window moron!´is what he wanted to say, but he kind of couldn't, because the idea suddenly felt much better than a dagger or a sword or...damn he was blushing! He clenched his fists, this was wrong, but he had been curious for so long.  


He answered something unintelligible, mumbling under his breath. The jinni rose a brow, to indicate that he had not heard a thing. Lovino burst.

“I said that it better be the best fucking kiss I've gotten in my fucking life, you cheap bastard!!” The jinni looked a bit taken aback by the outburst. He had been obviously joking. How embarrassing was that? But then he bit his lip to keep the laughter in, playful sparks in his eyes, so mischievous that Lovino felt like he was about to be set on fire. The man walked slowly towards the poor Italian who was just standing there, immobilized by the tension.

“Your order is my command then” the young man whispered over his lips, and leaned forward, moving Loving closer just by the electric power of the tips of his fingers on the Arab´s back and neck. First their lips brushed. Then he found himself wrapped in the arms firmly, a tongue in his mouth and hot lips taking all of his mind over.

The room started swirling, and his body came alive. He saw color, s he saw stars, he got his mind swirling in circles and by the time he was allowed to drop on the bed he knew he had a lot of things to question as soon as the room stopped spinning. The green-eyed creature chuckled again, giving him a somehow endeared but cocky smile, and went back to the window, disappearing up, if propelled by arms in his climb or floating, Lovino didn't know. He could barely remember his own name, let alone the laws of gravity.

He let himself back on the bed, and among the colors and the taste in his mouth he didn't resent just lying there and let his skin tingle and the hours go by. It felt like the goddamned bells woke him up right the second he had closed his eyes! Why the fuck he always had the same prob-. 

Wait. 

The city was under Arab rule.

The curch didn´t have bells.

They didn´t toll.

They had not tolled in over three centuries.

What the hell was going on?!

 He darted out of the bed and took half of his body out of the window, looking with incredulity the tower of the little church his neighbors were allowed to keep. It had bells on it now, which it shouldn't. When Lovino looked around he realized that he was watching a change of government. Castilian troops were in the places where the sultan´s troops would usually be. The sultan of the city could be seen in the balcony of his palace, unarmed like his guards, and surrounded by armed christian knights who were conducting them out. He looked around. How had they gotten in? The walls of the city were solid and impossible to cross. The city with walls of fire Madrid was called. How could they…?

 

“They climbed the walls!” he heard one of his neighbors say “They climbed the walls at night and took the guard out! They climbed silently and opened the gates!” 

For all hell! How could they? 

He then had a dark, terrible premonition. He felt his stomach drop cold.He looked, wearily, to the alcazar, the fortress that controlled the walls with groups of Christian soldiers in the balconies and who shared a wall with his own home. Among the strangers gathered in the balcony with their crosses on white background. There he found, on a balcony along with the rest of the troops, almost immediately, the jinni. The bastard had been looking his way and even had the nerve to be staring at him. When Lovino turned, the other had the nerve to wink an eye at him. 

“So, it seems like we are going to be neighbors, after all” The bastard chirped at him from the window, cocky smile on his face. For a fraction of a second, Loving´s sleepy brain thought that the Christians had found the jinni and asked him to bring them in by opening the gates, or made them float over the walls, but his common sense quickly caught up with him as he looked over at the bastard's uniform, at the-

“You were climbing the Alcazar's wall! You son of a bitch!” he barked, red with shame and rage all of a sudden. The green-eyed soldier just laughed easily.

“Oh! C´mon! Don´t be so dramatic! It won't change your life that much. Besides, we will get to know each other a bit better!” 

"Why would i want to know more abotu a lying bastard like you?

"Oh, because it was the best you ever had, or you woudn´t had bought my lie. Am I wrong?"

The poor young man felt his face catch fire.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the legend, in the XI century, a group of Castilian soldiers took the city by silently climbing the almost smooth wall at night, "like cats", and opening the gates for the rest. The city practically went to sleep with one ruler and woke up with another. That is why people from Madrid are nicknamed "cats" in Spain.  
> 


	10. The Moonlight Stall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Au: Lovino is the victim of an enchantment. He just wants to be free again.
> 
> Featuring: Romano, Turkey, Austria, England, France, Spain
> 
> Warning: This is a fairy tale, which means a lot of gratuitous and gory death of almost everyone and their mother. Also, Antonio with PTSD.

Flores del Manzano:  **The Moonlight Stall**

 

It was a time of war and castles. A lot of war and a lot of castles in Iberia, and a lot of men like Sadik the Turk, famous mercenary searching for wealth and fortune under the orders of king Tarim.

The Turk was respected by his great deeds reconquering terrain stolen by northern Christian-the Christian would say that they were the ones that had reconquered it fifty years prior, but that was a never ending conversation Sadik was done with. All he acred about was glory and rewards, but even though eh had gotten his share of glory, his last employer had been a bit cheap in the reward area. Just a crappy piece of the land he had won with his blood and sweat, and not even a particularly good one.

He was surveying his new domains, conveniently terrorizing inhabitants, just a little bit to ensure tax collection really, nothing too bad, and on this freezing winder night he and his horse were crossing the last road on the way back totheir casttle in the distant hill.

Nobody was allowed to talk about the old, pagan traditions under Arab rule. If they had been, and if Sadik had been a little les intimidating, maybe one of the villagers would have warned him, and Sadik´s story would have been more fortunate.

Among tiny wildflowers and rock rose, by a large rock at the edge of the yet uncharted road, the Turk saw a little stall illuminated by moonlight. The silk covering it shone with sucha  delicate and ethereal glow that the entire establishment seemed to be made of moonlight itself, and behind it he saw a thin, veiled figure with golden, inciting eyes looking in his direction. The air around the beautiful stranger smelled like exotic perfumes from far away lands, and the surrounding grass was so fresh that it looked like no human had ever set a foot on it.

The turk jumped of his hoirse and walked towards the aparition, half entranced by the beauty of it all, half enchanted by the embodiments of gold and silver that twirled on the persian silks on the stall and on the revealing clothes of the young man, dressed like the male concubines of Cordoba´s sultan and as handsome as any of them.

"Hello, brave warrior" The strange beauty wispered sensually, as he twisted the strange curl in his head, his voice filled with promises "May I interest you in any of the wonders of my humble establishment?"

A man other than The Turk would have been fascinated into silence by the gold and silk and beauty displayed in front of him, but The Turk was a well traveled soldier, who had seen the depths of war and horror, as well as the splendor of Cordoba and Constantinople, and the beauty of Santiago (while raiding it, granted, but that still counts). Impressing him wasn't as simple as dressing up nice.  
  
"Ha! You mean this table in the curb of a dirt road?"

The mysterious salesman felt a vein on his forehead swell, but he managed to force a smile through his contracted face, almost painfully, and continued with his act pulling his own curl slightly for better effect.

"Call it as you wish." He managed to purr instead of barking

"Would you like to have a look? You may see something you like." The Turk rose a brow with skepticism, causing the salesman´s smile to tweak and seem even more strained, but he eventually accepted the offer and walked towards the luxurious stall. His aloofness disappeared the moment he came close enough to actually see what the young stranger had on display. In front of him there were the most delicate wonders and treasures he had ever seen. There were daggers made purely of gold and precious stones. There were swords of Damascus Iron with blades shiny like moonlight and handles made out of fine gold and rubies. There was silk and even a delicate pair of scissors made entirely of gold and rock crystal.

The Turk observed the sparkling wonders in front of his eyes. A single one of them would give him money enough to live like a sultan for the rest of his life. Damn! A single one of those weapons would transform him into the most envied and recognized fighter in the entire Mediterranean! He could almost see himself raising the wonderful weapon from his rampant horse, ready for battle, with all his men staring at him in awe! And-!

Over him, the young man in silk just watched him anxiously, smiling and blinking charmingly despite his nature and trying his best to look adorable.

"Impressive, aren't´they?" he tried to make conversation, blinking sensually, or his best approximation to it, without taking his eyes off the soldier.

"Very" The Turk mumbled to himself, ignoring the seller. He only had eyes for the weapons and treasures in front of him. The young man of the curl kept making titanic efforts to keep the smile on his face. "I´ll tell you what. I´ll give you whatever you think is the best article of all. You can keep it forever, what do you say?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Of course not. You just have to prove that you have good taste and tell me what the best thing in the store is."

Of course the Turk was quite on board with the idea. He was a competitive man, and who could resist the temptation of keeping the best of something? He looked at the objects for a second but didn't have to think much. He took the most beautiful scimitar on display, a perfectly balanced piece with a handle made of gold and rubies, and swung it in his hand. The blade was so sharp that it cut the air without a single sound, silent like a cat and swift like a falcon. The Turk smiled with something that was almost love. His eyes sparkled like the stars above his head. "This! This is the best thing in your store!" He declared. The young man´s smile got strained and showed a little too much fang.

"Uh-Are you sure?" He tried.

"Are you questioning me?" The Turk answered in a powerful voice, used to lead and be followed as he was. The mysterious youngster´s curl twitched and wrinkled strangely.

"I just don't want you to get home and regret your choice" he said, his voice speckled with a too high note here or there.

"Indeed. If there is something I´d like to take home with me, it is this!"

The young man´s smile was just a grimace at this point. The soldier didn't notice any of this though. He just couldn't take his eyes off the beauty of the scimitar. The strange merchant nodded with a sight.

"As you wish" he conceded, dropping his smiley act.

He took the blade, presumably to prepare it for transport, but instead of doing, so he swung it over his head with supernatural speed and jumped over the stand, slashing the warrior's throat from side to side before the man even had the chance to react. Sadik only saw a flash of gold before the furious, supernatural Arab had ended his life. The body with the sword buried in it fell to the ground right in front of the stall, the beautiful weapon buried deep in its neck. Indeed, he had kept it until the end of his days.

Lovino sighed and retrieved the bloody weapon again. He looked at the corpse for a long moment, like the lost opportunity it was. Then he sighed again, left the sword back in its place, and put his clothes back in order, defeated. He used to be shocked by death and murder back in the day, when the curse had first made him kill someone. But now, somewhere between the person number five hundred and six and five hundred and seven it no longer bothered him. At this point he was no longer concerned about others, he was too busy dwelling in his own misery. He was worried, and scared, and just exhausted. Why was getting someone to break his curse so difficult? When it was imposed on him, a couple hundreds years ago, he thought that it would be easy to break! He had even laughed! But again, maybe that mentality is what got him into this mess in the first place. He sighed again, trying to talk himself into being strong and not losing his mind so quickly. Maybe he just had to be nicer. Maybe there was still a way.

He took a silver scimitar from the stand and examined his reflection on the blade. He was dressed impeccably, masculine but alluring. His curl had the right bounce, and he had tried to be sensual and inviting, so much so that he felt like he'd be puking rainbows the next hour. Still, nothing. He hoped that his story being silenced would give him a steadier flow of "clients" that could break his curse, but all he go was stupid minstrels and soldiers. Stupid troubadours and stupid stupid corpses on the road!

He kicked up dust to free some frustration instead of crying and faded into the moonlight.

 

...

 

Arab rule was a fresh memory, but a memory nevertheless. After revolts against the Flemish, and blood, and far more concessuons that the flemish ministers were confortable with, Spain had fallen under Augsburg rule. The commoners of Spain and Italy swore loyalty to the Flemish prince, Charles of Gante and of Austria, and idealistic youngster who saw in his new land, and in their world- famous army, the tools to fulfill hisdream of an united Christianity where war and divission would not exist. God had given him this well of blood and silver as a sign, and His will shall be done.

While Charles dreamed and prayed, Roderich and other bureocrats worked on the logistics. Really, history doesn´t give nearly enought credit to men like Roderich, who risk their pulmonar health and the dryness of their stockings in ungodly fields, tripping on roots and stones while mapping roads and fields.

Roderick combed his black hair back with his fingers, thankful for the cool breeze of the night. He had nothing against his king´s new kingdoms, but he had a lot against their weather and their murderous sun. He really wanted to finish his work before summer, and if that meant working some nights, so be it. Maybe he should have taken some guards with him, but pulling those good-for-nothing out of bed was harder than catching a star. The Austrian engineer pushed his glasses up his nose and glanced around. His map of the roads was almost complete, and once king Charles could stop investing money in the Emperor title and bothered to invest the taxes from this land _in this land_ , it woydn't take long to connect all villages with Salamanca and its university, bringing progress to this poor rural people that kept telling him about ghosts and apparitions. Poor simple souls.

As he thought about this things he noticed a mysterious stall by the curb of the road that he had somehow missed before. The humble wooden table was covered with rich silk embroidered with gold and silver and covered by an awning of the same material. Behind it there was a beautiful young man in unfamiliar but alluring clothing staring right at him.

"Well, are you coming near or what?" The young man said, clearly inpatient and a bit tired of holding his casual posture. Roderick quirked a brow, annoyed at that, but decided to walk towards him nevertheless. All the luxury in the establishment didn't match with the place in which it was located. It was clearly stolen. Roderick had to make an effort to keep his eyes away from the shinny merchandise as he came closer, but he managed to succeed.

"Peddling is forbidden under the new laws of the king." He informed the golden eyed merchant, who just gave him a feline smirk.

"Is that so?" he asked "Well, in that case, I may as well offer you something in exchange for your silence, what do you say?"

"You insult me. I do not accept bribery."

"Not at all? Not even by anything of what´s in front of you now?" at that the young man opened his arms, showing the entirety of his table, and Roderick couldn't help but to follow the gesture by instinct.

He wished that he hadn't done it. Once he did his eye was forever caught by the sparkling, amazing treasures in front of him. There were daggers made purely of gold and precious stones. There were swords with the handle made of fine silver filigrees and rubies. There were delicate scissors of gold and rock crystal.

Lovino smirked, satisfied to have the civil servant´s attention now.

"Not so wordy now! Huh?" he bragged, resting cockily on the stand.

"Uh…"

"Well. You can keep the best thing in here! Just choose" Lovino´s voice sounded impatient and demanding, but the Austrian didn't notice, nor did he care. After looking at the beautiful collection of objects he found himself trailing his fingers over one of the golden daggers. He took it delicately, as if trying to confirm that such amazing objects existed. They were indeed pure gold, but still, somehow, the master smith had managed to make the edge sharp like steel.

"Only a master smith or a wizard could craft objects of such beauty" Roderick whispered, bewitched. He played with the daggers for an instant among his fingers. The balance of the blade was perfect, and they moved between his long fingers like live snake, s following his every command. He would be the envy of every courtesan in court if he had such beauties in his possession. They had the perfect size to be carried in his elegant clothes. They would serve him in court, and they could save him in the dangerous roads. Was there anything finer in the world?

"So? What do you think? See anything that is better than the rest?" Lovino hurried his client.

"I think this daggers are the best thing I´ve ever seen" He whispered "Besides, on this dangerous roads they will come in handy, they have the perfect size to hide among my clothes" Lovino´s curl twitched in anger, but the young man said nothing, he just forced himself to smile and nodded.

"If that's what you think is best, you can keep them forever"

Roderick looked at the young man. The entire encounter seemed weird, but he nodded politely, and promised not to tell the king's law enforcement about this strange stall by the road. He didn't plan on following through of course, law must be held supreme, but the temptation of the daggers had just been too large to overcome, and his conscience rested assured that any other man in his situation would have done the same. He hid his new treasure among his clothes, said bye politely to the golden eyed stranger that glared at him now for no reason, and turned around to continue with his work.

He didn't get far though. Before he had managed to give a couple of steps he felt a lash of pain through his spine and fell death on the road, face first, the three golden daggers sticking out from his back. Lovino sighed again, the knot in his stomach loosening and turning into something colder and darker than dread, hopelessness. Five hundred years and still nothing! He was sued that his brother had managed to break his own curse by now. Maybe it was something in him? He didn't even remember why he had been charmed in the first place anymore. Had he deserved it?

Yeah, he probably had, he taught miserably as he retrieved the golden weapons from the corpse´s back and put them back into the stand. He had been vain and self centered...but how did that get fixed by spending trapped and alone century after century? He was hungry. He missed the taste of food! He even missed human contact, which was strange because by now he also hated everybody! Five centuries of idiots!...

The worst part was that at this point in history everyone from around the road already knew about him and would avoid him like they avoided the plague. Even soldiers returning home knew better than to cross his road by night. He only got drunkards, idiots, and foreigners, and his chances to ever finding someone who would break his curse grew slimmer and slimmer with every fresh body that fell at his feet on a full moon. He scolded himself for losing hope so quickly. He didn't bother to look at his reflection on the golden blades before fading into moonlight. He felt like there was no point in it anymore.

 

...

 

Many moons came by, followed by many lonely nights for Lovino, and many death travelers added to his count, so many that he had stopped both crying and counting. The Augsburg and their dream of a united Europe had fallen and their empire was disolving due to lack of heir. A French and an Austrian pretender now fought tooth and nail to grab as many of the kingdoms under the disolved crown as they could, while minor powers fought to get the scraps and further their own interests. Captain Arthur Kirkland was here in the name of one of them. England had joined the Austrian side, as a way to weaken France, and now that the Austrian stood a chance he was to be backstabbed and abandoned to the French fury. Arthur understood this. It wasn´t the most honorable thing, but he understood it, there was no way his dear England was risking a second Hispano-Austrian union, he wasn´t complaining. His only complain was...coudn´t someone let the troops know with a little bit of time, please?

The space between he learning of the new orders, and the pro-Austrians doing so had been so short that he hadn´t even had time to blink. It was enought for the Spanish that used to be on his side to thoroughly stab their short knifes in the stomach of Arthur´s comrades and skillfully relieve them all from the weight of their guts. Arthur scaped by sheer miracle, covered by the night and taking the last shreds of his company with him through unknown, hostile land. Those last friends had been dispatched by bandits and villagers along the way. The locals didn´t take treason lightly.

Arthur´s only hope was to cross the entire damn country by foot under the cover of the night, and to avoid any encounter untill he managed to reach Portugal. Right now about a quarter of Spaniards wanted his head for fighting against France, well over a third wanted his head for betraying Austria and their beloved dynasty, and all the remaining ones wanted his head just for being a foreign power trying to get rich with their suffering, period. Go and explain to any of these enraged, tormented beasts that you were just following orders, king and country and all that! Yeah, not likely to go well.

Right now, his feet hurt, his tongue was sticking to his pallat, so dry that it hurt, the dust of the damn Spanish plains was shredding his throat to pieces and his stomach was so empty that it had started to eat itself. Arthur was not going to give up though. When he felt like he coudn´t giveanother step he closed his eyes, imagined his home in England, his brothers, his mother, the warm family nigths they would share, and he kept going.

Lost in his fantasies of home, Arthur didn't notice when that strange stall by the road came into view. It must have been hidden by the shadows until a ray of moonlight has fallen on it. It was an odd apparition, but in a way convenient. The captain stopped and considered his options for a minute. He didn't want to run any unnecessary risks, but he was sure that someone selling merchandise in such a solitary place and at such an ungodly hour must be an outlaw himself, so his thirst and his empty stomach dragged him towards the flashy stall with a mind of their own. In his exausted estate, it took Arthur a couple of seconds to process what he was seeing. The guy behind the stall was young and slender, dressed in colorful clothes that Arthur had never seen. A gypsy, he assumed, and looked up to beg for any water.

That is, until he starred in the stranger´s eyes and realized that they had an impossible color. The stranger smiled, an empty smile that felt almost like a reflex. His gaze was lively, evil, and impossibly old. His provocative clothes made no sense in this place or weather. Only then did the richness of the place get to his exhausted brain, the marvelous treasures displayed in the stall in front of him. He looked up. This wasn´t possible. He must be allucinating.

"Hello traveler" the creature said "would you mind to look at my merchandise? You get to choose the best article in it, and keep it for free."

_God no. This can´t be!_

Arthur didn't listen. His exhausted body zapped him with its last adrenaline jolt. He might be a soldier. He might be a man of courage, a well educated one, but he was English and he KNEW how to recognize a fairy when he saw one! And there just one safe way of dealing with faeries! Not doing so at all!

Arthur stumbled back, no longer feeling the ache of his muscles. The grumpy fairy kept talking, probably giving him the riddle he'd have to solve to escape death, but the soldier had no intention of answering it. He understood the situation now. He would not let this curse trap him. He would survive. Damn he needed to survive! He had to make it home! He had not survived Spanish blades, French bayonets and cannons, Portuguese guns, and Bavarian cavalry just to die by fairy in some godforsaken road!So herun away from the stall. He run as fast as his body would let him. He didn´t look back at the treasures or the boy, he didn´t listen to the voice calling him. He just run and run until the stall and the fairy were lost in the distance.

 

Lovino observed the retreating figure and rolled his eyes.

"What an idiot!" he mumbled, as his stand and his treasure started to fade in moonlight "Well, I _tried_ to warn him!".

Arthur´s body was found weeks later, very close to the place where his brief encounter with Lovino had taken place. He looked as if he had died of dehydration and his boots were completely worn out, as if he had been running and walking for days. However, his tracks seemed to do nothing but circles around the same empty part of the road. Nobody threw much of a fuss, the locals were busy having a continental war fought on their own soil and didn't have much time to worry about nameless bodies.

 

...

 

At the end of the bloody war, the French pretender won. If you asked Francis, it couldn't have been any other way. It was God´s will for the French to spread the French illustration and intellectualism, the only true forms of intellect, to their poor uncivilized neighbors from the south. They were spreading their view on history, on the past, on the future, and even on God, helping to clean up the fog and darkness of the dark ages, and Francis Bonnefoy was proud to be a part of such a rewrit-civilizing process. Never mind that said darkness was of their own nationalistic making. The locals were not too cooperative though, and that is why Francis had an escort the size of a small army, but they would learn. And if they didn't, they wouldn't have access to publication or writing so it wasn't such a big deal.

For now, Francis was content with taking inventory of the string of ridiculous beliefs and superstitions-traditions they called them-that the locals kept holding on to. It would make for a funny publication to discuss in his return to Paris. You wouldn't believe it, but right on is first week in the area he had already been warned about enchanted roads by two different people. How silly was that?

Extremely, if you asked him, and that is what he was sharing with his escorts right now. Such an endearing idiocy this peasants had!

When Francis and his people saw Lovino´s luxurious stan materialize-or maybe just come to light- under the moon's rays they were a little surprised. However, it didn't take long for them to find a rationalization. Considering his unfamiliar attire, this was clearly a gypsy, who was taking advantage of local superstitions for smuggling or selling objects he had stolen. Nevermind that any local would have been able to point over eight different flaws in that very racist and random explanation. He was an illustrated French scholar therefore he was right. With an easy gesture and a confident pace he walked towards the stall, where a very grumpy, very sexy young man was crumbled on himself, glaring daggers at the landscape, as if he had something personal against the place.

"Hello, young man" the French gentleman saluted. Lovino growled and nodded, no longer bothering himself with sensual postures or fake smiles. What was the point? He was going to spend all eternity trapped here, he better get used to the idea.

"What he heck do you want... Sir?" On the other hand, if Lovino forced himself to be positive, he could say that humans didn't usually approach him, he had to call them. That was a change at least. And this bastard seemed less into weaponry than the usual. Maybe he had a chance at least!

Yeah, sure!

He scowled to himself, trying not to get his hopes up. It would only hurt worse once he was let down. Still, he could never manage to keep himself from hoping, even just a little, that this time it would be the time, that this time the enchantment would be broken at least.

"I can't help but wonder what is a fine establishment like yours doing in such a lonely place like this road."

"Well, I´m giving up worthless crap for free, isn't it obvious?" Lovino scolded himself without much bite, maybe he should at least try, even if it was the minimum " Look around. Pick whatever you think is best. You get to keep it forever"

"What an odd business model my friend" the Frenchman said, leaning over to examine the treasures with an amused face.

"Well, yeah, we can't all be…" He looked the blonde up and down "whatever you are."

The golden eyed man mumbled, willing himself to not even look to the client, but peeking through the corner of his eye nevertheless.

Francis took his time, which lightened tiny amber of hope in the poor enchanted moor´s heart. This client went over the swords, the daggers, the silk and the jewel, until his hands were finally caught by a pair of scissors made of pure gold and crystals. One of his guards peeked over his shoulders with curiosity while Francis inspected the fine piece of artistry under the moonlight. The swords were impressive but ultimately he had seen similar things in the Versailles court. The daggers were new, but he had no use for them. However molding the delicate mechanism of a scissor out of precious metals required a complete master. It was the finest present for any woman he could think of. "My friend, this is the most amazing thing I´ve ever seen" Lovino turned, a smile full of teeth peeking under his veil.

"Oh! Is it?" He asked. The singing voice of the young man froze Francis´s veins, but before he could even react to it, even finish seeing the wild rage, the utter madness that sparkled on those golden eyes the Moor had jumped over the stand, taken the scissors from him and stab him in the eyes with it, right to the brain. The escorts broke line and run off for their lives, as the young scholar fell death on the floor.

Lovino kept stabbing and stabbing far more times than necessary, and finally he broke down crying. He'd stay there for all eternity. He'd never taste food again, or get a hug, or see anything but this same landscape for millennia to come. He'll stay here for all eternity having his hopes crushed over and over and over again. He was sure of it.

 

...

 

Years went by under Bourbon rule, and the French illustration was fed to the willing and the unwilling alike. The land resisted the French "enlightenment", but there is only so much one can do, and a lot was lost and far more distorted, until the land itself could barely remember he rown name. That is why Antonio had never heard about Lovino´s stall even though he had been born in one of the little villages not too far from the charmed road. Not like knowing about the curse would have stopped him from taking that road though. Not a lot of things could stop Antonio from doing anything at this point. He didn't care enough. His body seeme dto walk on his own, dragged by the old call of home, while his sould flew behind it like a kite, attached to his walking body by a thin string that could break at any instant.

He used to care tough. he used to care a lot about everything back in the day, when he was a lanky young man in the University of Salamanca, trying to become a doctor. His parents had worked so hard for him to have that chance and study... That´s what he wanted to be. Be educated, be a doctor, and save lifes. He never wanted to spend his youth crawling through high grass, gun in hand, or stabbing French soldiers in the kidneys. That was just how things turned out.It is funny how somethign that should mean so much to you could leave yo so...empty.

Technically it had been his choice. That is what he told himself, but he didn´t fully believe it. What choice did he really had when Napoleon invaded?. Was he supposed to sit down and watch? Of course not. Every young man in the nation fought. Every woman, and kid, and every human soul that was worth the title. His sisters fought. His friends and teachers did...So he obviously did too... It all felt so significant back then, as if they were saving their people, the entire nation roaring like one single man, every voice lost, and merged, and accompanied, like a water drop in a roaring wave. He smirked remembering their first uprising, the fire through his veins and the blood down his face; the first time that his anatomical knoweldge had been put to not very therapeutic use, cutting the soldier´s arthery like his mother would do with a pig. And what for?

For nothing.

Firsts they rebelled against Napoleon´s bastards, made a new warfare style up. Over 500 000 deads just counting soldiers, and just counting his side. All for what? For a king that was a mosnter, a constitutional dream that had been shattered to pieces, and honorary mention in Napoleon´s diary in Santa Helena. "My one mistake was Spain"; "The Spanairds behave like a single man of honor" Thank you very much, Sire, but you know what? the compliment isn´t worth what we went through. Not now. Not that we got our desired prince who executed the men who fought for him, abolished their constitution, and was an absolute son of a bitch.  
They didn´t know that the coward that sold them to Napoleon without resistance. They didn´t know that he would be a tyrant that would murder every liberal and refuse any constitutional attempt. They didn´t know back then. They were just kids playing with knifes in the dark. By the time they found out Ferdinand of Bourbon had executed about half of his nation already, give or take. So what was Antonio supposed to do then? What wasevery liberal meant to do?

Fight of course, so they fought while theworld watched, while England watched, the so called allies they never trusted for a second. Antonio lost his last friend in the first rebellion, all the others had been executed already. He felt betrayed by their allies, by their friends, by everything and everyone. He felt betrayed personally and he was mad to the point of exaustion. And they still said that-

Antonio laughed to himself, a husky laughter that made the old scar in his stomach pull and hurt. What was he supposed to do now? He kept fighting of course, along with the other liberals. All for nothing, of course. The world was too large now and outcomes were far beyond what a single group of individuals could do.  
After fifteen years of fire and war, nonstop battles... First the French, then the Absolutists, later he didn't even know nor did he care who... he was done. War and rebellion continued, and it would continue for decades but they better not count on him anymore. He had a dutty as a son but he coudn´t even feel affection for the parents he was returning to anymore. Sometimes he wondered if he was even returning home because of them, or just because he was tired. He was tired of fighting, sick of the world, sick of being alive, and even sick of himself. He had scars all over his body and horrors plaguing his dreams. He walked by night simply because he couldn't sleep without nightmares anymore, and if he was assaulted by bandits do be it! He just wanted to get home, maybe work the earth, forget about the world, and spend the rest of his life in the same damn spot and just die there.

When he saw Lovino´s store by the curb of the road he had no idea of what he was looking at, or how the little stablidhment had appeared under the moonlight, but he no longer had the spark to even care.

"Hey, you bastard!" a cracked voice called him from the stand "Get your ass here! Don't make me go find you!"

 

The Spaniard looked around, a bit surprised. The young man in extravagant clothing-or in something traslucent meant to pass as clothing-waved at him threateningly to make him walk closer.

"Goddammit, come here and let's finish with this shit! Don't´be like the goddamned Brit, is going to be worse if you walk away, I assure you!" The very angry stranger kept yelling.

The Spaniard rose a brow and let a breath filter out through his tired smirk.

"Pal, I have no business with you" He answered softly. He did have a butterfly-knife with a foot long blade in his pocket though if the stranger wasn't alone. One couldn't trust roads this days. You neverknew when you could findsomeone like Antonio in them.

"Well! Bad news you jackass, because now you do! Come here before I have to go and get you!" The voice was fully threatening, but the stranger was thin and short, so much that Antonio was sure he could handle the kid with a single hand if he had to. The stomping and threatening was funny, because it was ridiculously harmless. So much interest in him was also funny, even if only by contrast with his own somber mood. The Spaniard made an effort to put war images away from his mind, even for a second, and snorted at the stumping youngster in strange clothes.

 

"It has been a very long time since I saw anyone so enthusiastic about anything" he joked with a tired smile, much for Lovino´s frustration, but at least he gave in and walked towards the stall.

The Moor had seen soldiers before. Voluntary soldiers, young soldiers, old soldiers...Soldiers of all ages, broken by war were almost all the clientele he got for two centuries. The lost gaze in the Spaniard´s eyes and his lack of interest in things wasn't new. There was something special in this one though. Some sort of...innocence in his eyes as he looked at Lovino, pass the provocative clothes and the treasures of the stall, that somehow had managed to survive that hell. Something in his face that told Lovino that that man´s smile must have been just gorgeous and full of light back when he used to really smile.

Lovino liked the man, there was warmth left over around his broken aura, like the dying charcoals that still manage to warm the room long after their fire had died. He´ll probably have to kill him, but at least he´d try to make sure he died by weapon, not trapped by the curse while he tried to leave.

"So?" The Spaniard spoke. Lovino looked at him, confussed.

"So what?"

"You called for me. I´m here now. What do you want?"

"What do you mean what do I want? Fucking look around you dumb ass!"

"Go to hell" the Spaniard answered without bitterness, just an amused and tired snort, and he turned around to leave.

"Hey! Hey! Wait! Don't go! Just-Just look at this!" Lovino yelled, waving the ruby encrusted blade in front of him "Shinny, isn't it? Don´t you like it? Huh? Look at all my stuff dammit!"

 

The Spaniard turned, looking at him with a strange look. It wasn't every day one saw a half naked young man in luxurious veils waving a golden sword maniacally while half perched on a stand. Antonio´s eyes actually trailed a bit lower than they should, but he corrected himself quickly. He knew better than to let his preferences be so obvious. The Spaniard turned, green eyes looking at the shiny golden weapons with some curiosity and not much else. At least, Lovino thought, he seemed to have caught his attention. The soldier's eyes were now traveling through Lovino´s wonderful treasures. They were impressive, sure, if he sold any of this he would get enough money to live like a sultan for the rest of his life. However...there was something odd about the entire situation.

"Where have you gotten all that from?" the Spaniard asked. The strange man blushed under the veil.

"Endlesstreasurestocksfromdimensionsneverknowntomankind. Not important! The point is, here! Have a look at the stall! Anything you like?" The Spaniard chuckled.

"Well. They are nice things, but why so interested?"

"Because it is my job! Dammit!" The Spaniard chuckled again

"Well. I applaud your enthusiasm, but I can´t afford any of this. I can´t even afford a bed to drop in dead" He added ith a light-hearted smirk at his dark comment that made Lovino´s stomach twist.

"I-Uhm. I´m sorry"

"No need. The nation offers a wide variety of places to do that for free. My father´s garden may work. It would even be good for the plants!" Antonio was light-hearted about it, he really didn't notice that his humor had gotten a little dark in the last decade, but Lovino´s shocked face informed him. He laughed- sort of-, the young man had an adorable wrinkle on his nose as he processed the comment "I´m sorry. I didn´t mean anything by it, I promise! I´m just going back to my parent´s village. I don´t have much money right now."

"You can take anything you like in the stall for free. That may help you out."

"Nah. I´m fine, really. I will have work there. Our land isn't rich, but it is enough to live."

"Well, this may help you out make things a bit easier."

"I don´t really need them to be easier. I like keeping my mind bussy. I like to work" Lovino was starting to get frustrated, but the soldier didn´t give him much time fort hat; he turned aroudn in the last second "  Where are those clothes form by the way?"

"Eh-Enough questions about me! Here! Look around! Golden scissors! Pretty, hug? I bet your mom would love them. Or sister. Any sisters?" Lovino informed, shoving the scissors in the soldier´s nose. The man looked at them with a sad smile, but he didn´t take them.

"I used to have three, and a brother, but none is alive."

"Oh"  Well, that was a great beginning. Lovino kicked himself internally and tried not to look at the human's sad eyes. He had gotten used to killing people, but not to dealing with their living family. The honest hurt in that man´s gaze made him feel uncomfortable "How? I mean, If you don´t mind…"

The man shrugged.

"War. Wars, to be precise. Napoleonic wars, Royalist wars. It´s all the same. Just" he chuckled, that sound was so so wrong coming from him, Lovino just knew it was. "Two of my sisters, the French soldiers…" he shook his head, closing his eyes " they bled too much, I don't want to talk about it. Carmen got executed, accused of conspiring and of killing one of the new bastard´s captains with a hammer, seven years ago.

"Was she-did she really do it or...?"

"Of course she did."

"Oh…" For a second the human looked really scary, his green eyes getting dark and unsettling, but then he sighted, the old exhaustion and emptiness catching up on him

"My brother died last year. That is why I´m retiring from the fight, in a way. I´m the only child my parents have left. I figured...You know."

Lovino hadn't felt so bad in centuries. This man´s parents had lost four out of their five children, and now Lovino was going to kill the last one too. The sweet one who was going back to take care of them in their dying days. Wasn't life great? This is why he didn't talk to his victims so much, dammit all!

"I´m sorry". He needed to finish this deal quickly.

"You don't have to be"

"Oh! Trust me! I do" Lovino insisted, behemently, if the soldier had any idea that Lovino was apollogizing in advance...

The green-eyed soldier looked at the moor for a second, and then chuckled. Lovino mumbled something.

"You said?"

"Nothing!Just that it sounds like you were all really brave. And stuff."

"Well, we were not, we just had no choice. Nobody does recently."

"I guess. It sucks though."

"Its fine. I just want to rest and be with my family. I don´t care about the world anymore." Lovino looked down from those dying green eyes, from the way they looked at him, actually seeing him, and from the small sparkle of innocence that was still there, somehow, surviving against all odds after the hell Lovino had only heard of.

"That´s not like you, I can tell" He wispered. The Spaniard forced a small smile.

"Cute. You seem to mean it."

"I do"

" Thank you." He commented, as if that was an oddity. Then he paused for a second, as if asimilating the words, and after letting out air and getting back a smile, slightly more lively than the others, he thanked Lovino again. Something in this second thanks was different, and made Lovino blush up to his ears.

"For what?" The moor grumbled, thankingall heavens for the silks covering part of his face.

"For listening. And for being actually sorry. I hadn´t-I hadn´t had the chance to talk about this in a long time."

Lovino felt his face heat up again. He needed to finish this before things got even more awkward. With a hurried gesture he just pushed all the gold implements he had towards the front of the stand.

" There. Fucking watch them! All shiny and expensive and shit! Look at them like a normal person dammit!" The soldier chuckled again, and Lovino just wanted to slap him because he could tell that those hollow, dead sounds were just a shadow of how that man´s laughter was meant to be. What had this man gone through? Lovino bit his lip and shook his head. He shouldn't be wondering those things. It was never a good idea. What was the point? He was going to end the bastard´s misery before he could tell him about it, there wa sno point in wanting to know.

The Spaniard looked at the objects with curiosity, but Lovino and the uncomfortable feeling that he was looking at him a s well. He clenched his fists and glared at the floor, trying to avoid those green eyes, until the feeling of being observed became just too irritating.

"Are you okay?" The Spaniard asked. Lovino snapped and slammed his hand on the table.

"Stop getting distracted! Eyes here!" The Moor growled, slamming the table with his fist. The Spaniard was taken out of his daze by the almost heart attack " You see all this shit? Well, pick whatever you think is best. You get to keep it forever. Then leave. The usual. Come the fuck on! I don't have the whole day!"

"Are you kidding?"

"No! consider that I lost a bet and I need to give the best thing in the stall to the first moron that shows up! Now, pick!"

The soldier looked at him for a long moment, then he looked back down and the beautiful objects displayed for him. Swords, daggers, scissors...he took them all and examined them in silence, but ultimately left them back where they were. Lovino grew very impatient. This whole process had stopped being funny for him about a millennia ago.

"Well. The best thing in the stall is you, you are a great listener."

Lovino looked up, wide-eyed.

The Soldier looked a bit taken aback by that piercing stare, as if he had said something wrong.

Has he been to obvious? Well, he didn´t mean to-to be so honest about it, it´s just- It´s just that it wasso gamn ahrd to care now. He was failing even now.

"W-What did you say?"

"I said that the best thing in the stall is you. You listened to me, made me feel-well-lest like fucking burrying myself right here for a while. I don´t think any of this things could have done that."

"You-you-you do realize that you are loosing the chance of g-g-getting any of the other-the other stuff if you...?"

" Well, I don´t expect you to come with me or anything! I just meant that-I don´t reallyc are about this things much, but you-"

The SPanish soldier didn´t have time to finish his words. A blinding flash of light that took over his world for an instant, shaking heaven and earth, twisting reality in an impossible loop of screams of anguish that shook the poor human´s brain in a magical blast.

"You did it!" the Moor whispered somewhere in the light, barely loud enough for the blinded soldier to hear over the sound of a million invisible chains breaking.

There was a second of silence. Antonio stumbled, blinded still, and tried to press his hands to his eyes to stop seeing stars but he had no time. He got tackled by some invisible force, four long tentacles wrapping around his body in a bonny and desperate embrace. His back hit the road hard, knocking the air of him. He had something grabbing at his neck as if they wanted to kill him. Lovino. That was the thing gripping at his neck until it made it crack, and covering his face in a rain of frantic kisses. The Spaniard had to make a double take on that. Not that he was complaining!

"YOU DID IT! Oh God!, oh God! You did it! You chose me! At least!!At least!!! You-You-You broke the spell! You broke the spell! I´m free! I´m free! You broke the fucking spell! Oh God! So long! So long!"

"I-I what.?" Before Antonio knew, he was being pulled back up by a force such a small body had no right to possess, and being dragged along the road.

"You chose me! You said it! You said that it was worth more than the treasures didn't you? Well, you get to keep me foreverer! Now, walk!"

" Where did that light-"

"Magic dammit! C´mon! You are taking me with you! Fuck it, you are taking me everywhere! I want to see the entire world! What city are ge visiting first?!"

"I-I was planning on staying in my village for the rest of-"

"Nonsense! Do you have any fucking idea how it was like? To stay in the same spot for ten hundred years? You are showing me the fuck around! But we better stop by your home first, and you better can cook, because I'm fucking starving!"

"But I-" Antonio got no time to finish his thought.

Before he knew it he was forced up and dragged through the road. Antonio didn't even know that breaking Lovino´s curse came with some side effects for him, like an endless supply of gold and Lovino´s eternal love. Lovino knew about this, but he was too excited making plans for the future to even think about letting Antonio know about this details. First, he would fixAntonio´s clothing and make him dress as sharp as a knife. Then he was going to take care of the whole ´having just enought to get by nonsense´ and gettheir family enought gold to last five lifetimes, and then he was taking his green-eyed savior to see the world and was going to kiss him, and fuck him senseless, and find a way to whip that unfitting sadness from his face and bring back the smile that should be there, whether the Spaniard wanted it or not. It was a promise! But he could start with that after dinner, because he had waited ten centuries to get a decent human meal, and he was not waiting a day more. Besides, he felt so happy and so filled with energy that he felt like he could burst into tears at any second if he didn´t release energy by running, and that would be a terrible first impression for the future love of his life.

Poor  Antonio only knew that he was being dragged through the road by a half naked man with the strength of an elephant, and that he was going to have a hard time explaining all of this to his family.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The type of thing Lovino plays is called a "Moracantana" , for Yuri who wanted to look for the original stories. It is supposed to be a contraction of "mora encantada" ("charmed moor girl") For what I was told they are the Castilian equivalent of fairies. They show up in a lot of stories.  
> I made up the "reason" for Lovino to be charmed, but everything else is the version of the story that I got, including the part in which they fall in love with the person that breaks their curse.  
> Friendly advice, if you find a morancantana, you need to chose her as the best thing in the store, else you will prolong her curse and she will murder you as a thank you.
> 
> This one was written on the plane home, I´m afraid is a little chaotic and long because of that, but I hope you liked it. Thanks a lot for following the stories and I hope to seeyou all around!


	11. The Iron Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: Lord Francis Bonnefoy is a powerful and proud feudal lord ruling over an impressive castle. Lovino and Antonio are two young and humble commoners who are very much in love. What could possibly go wrong?
> 
> Featuring: Spain, Romano, France
> 
> Warning: Character death. France may be a little oc, but consider his upbringing in this story ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to do something to relax so I reopened this and translated another legend. Again, this isn´t betaed and funny grammar or atention mistakes are bound to be found. I hope you enjoy despite of that.

**The Iron Crown (Pedraza)**

 

In the first years of the 13th century, there was a French noble under the king of Castille. He was the owner of the imposing fortress of Pedraza, a great warrior, and a fair and intelligent ruler deeply loved by his subjects.

At that same time, in the fertile fields under the fortress´s protection, lived a young boy with a fiery temper and a slender figure. This boy, Lovino, was the eldest son of a humble family whohad nothing to his name but his little cottage, his strange beauty, and the best friend in the world, for in the house by Lovino lived a young orphan farmer who made the sun rise in Lovino´s world just by smiling. He was a hard working boy, young and honest, who was his friend in the open and whom returned his love in secret. Both commoners had grown up together since they most innocent days, and now the capricious gods and the many winter nights cuddling together and Spring days working the fields shoulder by shoulder had turned their innocent games and laughter into the deepest love that land was to know. Neither would dare tosay a word, but as long as they had eachotherthe harsh life of the countryside was as goodas any paradise.

One day the noble lord of Bonnefoy was riding his horse through the village. The commoners dared not cross his path out of respect and a healthy ammount of fear, but Lovino was a bit too slow, and was discovered in the doorstep of his home, pushing his little brother inside in a hurry. Bonnefoy´s eyes landed on the boy. The devil sparkled the fire of sinful desire in the noble heart of the warrior atthat very momment, and Francis wasn´t a man used to giving up on what he desired. He used his feudal rights to demand that the kid was sent to his castle to serve him as a page, and as he saw fit in the solitude of his own chamber, even though he did not say this last part outloud.

Lovino´s family rejoiced in the sudden elevation in the status of their son. Everyone in the village celebrated in joy. Some were happy because of the good fortune of the boy. Others were happy because they had finally gotten rid of him and of his temper from hell. Only two people in the village were sad. Lovino, who did not want to be taken away from the person he secretly loved and was crying his sorrow behind the locked door of his room until he was taken away, and  Antonio the poor farmer boy who returned Lovino´s love. He had been sitting in a corner of his little cottage since the second he heard the news from Lovino himself, with a blanck stare and his heart shattered into pieces. There was no way he could fight against his Lord´s orders, but still, every drop of his blood burned with anger and sorrow.

The pain in Antonio´s heart found no solance in the passing of the days or in the pleasures of country life. Understanding that his sorrow had no cure in the human world, he packed up his few posessions and moved into a monastery to find consolation in Him who was greater than the human world. Slowly but surely the calm life of the monastery and the love of the creator helped his heart heal and fixed the shred of his soul back together.  
  
Time kept flowing like a river, and Antonio found happiness in his new life until fate decided to play with him once more. The old priest who served in Lord Bonnefoy´s castle died during the winder, and the French Lord asked the nearby monastery to send him the most virtuous of their monks to replace him and became the priest of his castle. The abbot chose Antonio among all the monks under his care, and unknowingly, sent him back with his former love.

Lovino froze in place when he recognized the new priest that was to serve in the castle´s chapel. It just took  a look between the old friends for all the feelings they had both fought to repress for years to come bursting back to the surface in full force, as if they had never left.

Lovino bit his lip and clenched his velvet sleeves into his fists, hiding behind his Lord and trying to remind himself over and over again that any hope was useless. He never had a chance to escape his destiny as the Frenchman’s toy, and he still did not.

In a desperate attempt to protect his sanity -and quite possibly his life too- Lovino went out of his way to avoid Antonio, eating at odd hours and doing anything ins his power to avoid catching the smallest glimpse of the priest´s gentle eyes. Antonio, on his side, did the same thing. He avoided Lovino as much as possible, and kept his mind clean and grounded through stark discipline and prayers. Their situation was further complicated by the unlikely friendship that formed between the lord of the castle and his monk and confessor. Antonio felt a the twisted contradiction inhis heart between the disgust he felt for what the French had done and still did to his childhood friend, and the natural compassion towards a man of whom he knew every struggle.

“Is what I do a sin, father?” Francis would ask, and Antonio would clench his fists at the other side of the lattice.

“Love is never a sin” he would answer, feeling his own hear swell and break at the same time “but lust is.”

“Oh, I love him alright” The noble would answer, not too concerned “as far as he doesn´t speak.” And Antonio would have to close his eyes and pray with all his heart to keep himself on his seat.

 

It was at this time that the Almohades launched their invasion on Castille. Alfonso VIII, “the noble king”, and his French queen Eleanor, called all their knights and vassals to battle and quickly organized the defense of their land. Lord Bonnefoy was called to arms and, without hesitation, marched to battle along with his troops, leaving behind his wife, his children, his servants, and his “favorite page”:

Lord Bonnefoy and his hosts gained notoriety for their discipline and temperance. He rose to prominence quickly and achieved glory in the last stand of Las Navas. After the long years of war he returned home as a war hero, covered in honors and titles.

Everyone in the castle ran out to celebrate the glorious return of their lord.

Under the stone gate, surrounded by her servants, there was his wife, and behind her, his page, pettite and charming. The warrior ran to hug his wife and children, and as he did so he sent a glance to his favorite page. Lovino was breathing quickly, face red and gaze low and filled with panic. Lord Bonnefoy knew that something was off in that very instant.

  
Bonnefoy tried to learn what had happened in his absence. He asked his oldest and most trusted servants, but none of them would betray Antonio´s trust, for the warm and caring nature of the monk had earned the friendship of all and bought their silence. However, Lovino´s temper wasn´t as likeable as Antonio, and Bonnefoy´s sons resented the sinful behavior of his father and the way in which their father dishonored their mother and blamed Lovino for it all. After a bit of resistance, they told their father about how the ungrateful page had betrayed his Lord´s generosity by succumbing to his forbidden love for the priest. They gave him every single detail of how Lovino had finally looked for Antonio, with the intention of just asking him how he was, how his years without him had been. But in the moment in which their eyes locked in the chapel, Antonio praying on his knees and Lovino shacking at the door, something had snapped inside the page and he had launched himself into his love´s arms, kissing him  with all the passion he had stored for years. Antonio had failed his lord too, and after a weak attempt at pushing Lovino away he had melted under his old friend´s lips and taken them both to the ground, united in a kiss that had the taste of love and eternity. They told him how the page´s temper had mellowed down, how his eyes were bright and his smile frequent since that night, and how the pirest would enjoy listening to the page rant, complain, talk, and how he drank his words as if they were the most valuable thing in the world.

The rage of the Lord of the castle at this news knew no bounds, but it was his ability to harness his emotions what had brought him glory in battle, and he decided to put that skill to use once more.

Francis pretended not to know anything. He ordered his servants and cooks to prepare a great banquet to celebrate his return.

The day of the celebration all the nobility from the nearby counties was present. The table was splendid, as was the food, and the great hall of the castle was filled with music and joy.

By the end of the dinner, Bonnefoy stood up and announced to the multitude of guests that he was going to grant to all his loyal servants, that had kept his state running in his absence, their due reward.

He had barely finished his statement when two of his knights fell over the priest and seized him from both arms. A third one entered the scene, carrying with him a wooden plate with a red-hot iron crown on it.

Lovino´s eyes opened wide in understanding. He tried to scream, to launch towards the knights but was grabbed by one of the guards and trashed away as in he was a feather. Antonio shook in the knight´s grip, but it was a useless struggle. Lord Bonnefoy walked towards him and, with his own gauntlets on he took the burning crown with spines in the base and lifted it over the priest´s hear.

“Since you seem to enjoy taking what is mine, you may enjoy taking my title as well” He whispered in the priest´s ear.

“ Lovino! Run!” was all the priest could say before the burning crown of speaks was placed over his head and his voice broke into an agonizing scream. The guards kept him in place until the priest stopped twisting and screaming and fell limp on the table, his face deformed and half melted from the iron.

 

Once his wounded pride was satisfied, Lord Bonnefoy´s smirk turned bitter as his conscience caught up with him and he faced the blasphemous product of his deeds, the young monk crowned in spines and dead on his table. Refusing to back down, he turned around and went off to hunt the page. He didn´t know yet if he wanted to console him, beat him, or drag him to the great hall to force him to watch the deformed cranium of his lover, but his body was being moved by his fury and not his mind. He followed the servant´s directions towards the basement and kicked the door of the storage room open. He found his beautiful lover there, with eyes wet with tears and a blank face that was simply terrifying. He had a candle in a hand, and a dagger in the other.

Lovino glared at the lord that had ruined him, taken him away from his family, used him as a toy, and finally murdered the sweetest person on the planet. He didn´t speak. He didn´t even savor the look of horror in Francis´s face as he stared at the candle in Lovino´s hand and understood what the page was going to do. He couldn’t feel joy anymore, or anger, he could feel nothing but misery, crystalized fury, and the tears of hate that run silently down his eyes. Every inch of his skin where Antonio´s hands had trailed, had kissed with love and devotion instead of lust, tickled and burned over the disgusting trails of lust that the noble had covered him with for years. The hollow place in his cheast twisting witch such pain that the devil himself would cringe in sympathy. Lovino could tolerate the way he had been used day by day until he was numb to everything, could have taken everything, or so he thought, until two minutes ago. Now every inch of light tha tlived inside of him had died along with Antonio´s last scream, the last bits of his humanity rolling now down his cheeks.

 

"You spoke of rewards. It´s time for you to receive your own."

 

Without another word, the page let the candle fall on the barrels of fat stored for the lamps. The flames rose to the ceiling in a second, jumping to light up the very stricture of the tower, the rest of the flammable objects, and the entire world around Lovino. The entire crowd gathered in the building escaped among screams and cries while, behind them, the castle of Lord Bonnefoy, everything he ever owned, desired or loved, including Lovino, was consumed by fire.

 

Nobody knows what happened with the lord of the castle or his sons, but the ghosts of the two lovers can still be seen wandering around the tower of the castle, holding hands as they walk, one with glittering flashes of iron going through his heart,the other one crowned by them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be back in Europe for Christmas. If you guys want me to reopen this while I'm traveling around this winter please let me know!
> 
> Data:  
> The castle of the story exists ( the Castle of Pedraza) It was indeed partially destroyed by a fire, and can be visited. The original characters are Elvira, Roberto, and Don Sancho de Ridaura.
> 
>  
> 
> If you think that the story of the crown and melted metal on someone´s head rings a bell...you are right. Its an image that seems to come from old Germanic legends and appears in stories all along France, Germany, England, Spain and Portugal; and it also appreas in Game of Thrones. The fun is that it doesn´t just appear in harmless legends, it was also used in propaganda and added to fabricated stories. For example, it appears in the old antisemitic ""historical"" poem " The Siege of Jerusalem" that spread through Europe, in equally fictional anti Spanish propaganda in England and Germany, and in other pieces of less famous propaganda produced during medieval power struggles. So yep, Antonio's bad luck it's a common theme.


	12. The Legend of Cambaral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let me die in your arms, so I may be happy at least for an instant."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Au.  
> Featuring Spain, Romano and Germany.  
> Warning for character death

**The legend of Cambaral (Bridge of Luarca)**

 

He had no heart but a nest of spiders. He had no blood but tar and fire from hell. Courage was his only redeeming quality, and it was the courage of a madman. He laughed, smirked like death itself as his sword cut flesh and bone, blood soaking up to his elbows and knees, the head of his enemies in his grips, the city burning around him, flames claiming ownership in his name for the little plumber he couldn’t carry with himself. He was the terror of England, France and Northern Spain. No coast around the channel was safe from the black winged fleet of that creature, that was more monster than man, and took pleasure in it.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, known as “Cambaral” by the helpless victims of his pirate army had on his shoulders the death of bishops, captains, kings and queens that had dared to oppose him. Skillful, canny and wise, in the way in which only Satan’s servants can aspire to be, he had beaten superior armies, alliances and traps with the silver flashes of his sword and with the discipline that terror inspired on his crew. Those royal heads hang high from the poles of his ships while he allowed commoners and anonymous soldiers who fought to save their loved ones to rot behind him.

That night the scenery of the tragedy was no different. The city was burning in front of the helpless eyes of the crown prince, who watched with despair the smoke and screams that came from the distant coast. Feliciano wept and run inside, unable to keep watching, but Lovino was stuck in place, unable to look away. He observed the little figures, small like ants, trying to fight and flee. The pirates carrying their treasures back to the ships, black sails proud and waiting for the wind, and then the lonely figure of their captain holding the troops back so his men could finish loading all the spoils of their carnage. He did so even though there was no need. Lovino could see from his balcony that the few guards left alive could not stop the pirates, and still Cambaral kept waiting, fighting near them as if he was trying to get himself killed.

If that was the pirate´s goal, he failed. Arrows missed him by sheer magic, and the strength of his arms kept pike men and swordsmen at bay with miraculous skill. He finally retreated to his ship, and the black sails opened to be kissed by the wind. Lovino was sure that there was something like sadness in the way the graceful, little black dot the pirate was for him, run back to the safety of his ship.

He knew that somewhere in one of those ships, hanging from the same masts that held the sails, was his mother´s head. Lovino remembered the first time he had seen Cambaral. The man had done the same thing, waiting until far past the last minute. He remembered the way he had tilted his hea dup, spreading his arms to the dying sun, as if the kiss of the king of the sky was the only thing in the world capable of bringing consolation to his empty heart, before walking back to his ship, unhurried, the mortal carnage behind.

The king came to get him later. He guided him away from the balcony with a gentle hand.

This image repeated through the years. Not the same village, for nothing grew back where Cambaral had stepped in less than a decade, such was the destruction he left behind, but in other villages from the kingdom of Asturias, or even the kingdom of France. Lovino could see the columns of smoke rising to the air.

The kings of Asturias, England and France were growing desperate, until one freezing, Christmas eve, while the princes were watching form the fire distance what looked like a naval battle, the answer washed to their shore. It was a broad, young man with the blond hair and pale face of the Vikings. The only reason why  he was not murdered on the spot was the holy day, and thanks God, for after the Viking was done coughing the entire Cantabric sea on the palace floor, he spoke the words that the king´s wounded soul had been longing to hear for over a decade. This man, Ludwig, Viking´s crew had been attacked of Cambaral as they went south from a raid on France. The monster of green eyes had defeated the Viking crew easily and, just as it was his habit, he had tortured every single prisoner to death in front of everyone else. Mad with horror, Lud had jumped off the side of the ship, arms chained and everything, hoping for a merciful death in the arms of the sea that would save him from torment at the hands of that beast.

It was no surprise to hear that Cambaral attacked the Vikings as much as he attacked the Christians, and that they too feared the rage of that monster. What was a surprise was the young man´s offer. He was no ordinary Viking, he swore, he was a prince among his people and, if he was allowed to live, he had an offer. His people would join the kings of the continent and prepare a trap for the pirate army.

Lovino looked shocked, but Feliciano, somehow, trusted the stranger. The king meditated for some instants. An alliance with the Vikings was something hard to imagine for him, but it would be hard to imagine for the pirate too. This might be their only chance.

Despite of Lovino´s protests, the king unchained the Viking and granted him a ship and a crew to return to his frozen lands with the words of friendship from the south. Ludwig left, and for Lovino´s surprise he was back by new year with reinforcements enough to pack the sea solid. They would join the king of France and trap the pirate near the cape of Luarca.

Rumors of richness and gold in Luarca were spread north and south. Ships were hidden. The trap was set, and sooner more than later the black sailed ships with the yellow sun on a black field entered the waters and filled the heart of the bravest men with terror, even if they were meant to be the hunters in this encounter.

The trap was closed on the pirates the moment they step foot on land. Fight erupted inland with the three allied armies screaming to avenge their death. Once again, Feliciano run off, unable to watch the carnage, and once more Lovino found himself frozen in place by the sheer horror, the fascinating filth of human evil. This time the king was joining the fight, and Lovino felt like his eyes should be on him, but they weren´t. Cambaral stull proud, like a flame in the darkness, dragging all eyes to him. He fought like a damned soul, like a man looking for death and unable to find it. He wasn´t brave, Lovino thought, he was insane; who else would fight like this? Once again the horror and hate he was meant to feel for this man were so intense they left him numb and strangely fascinated. Why?

Maybe that´s all he really wanted, the piece that he was missing to finally get over his own grief, and the grief of so many others. Why? How could a single person be so cruel? So brutal? So heartless?

Why he killed but eanwanto die?

The fight continued for over two days, and the pirate didn´t yield or rest for a second. It was on the second night, as the king and the pirate fought near a bridge that the infamous pirate was finally, caught by surprise. The moon was hidden under the clouds, and the pirate was already covered in blood when a spear pierced his shoulder from behind. The king stepped forth and disarmed the man completely, falling on him and piercing him to the ground, twisting the sword in his body and finding the darkest, most sinful delight in the pain that took over the young man´s face.

 

“Well played.” The pirate hissed, still fighting to keep a twisted smirk as his face contorted in pain “Now kill me, you son of a bich.”

The kings eyes became dark. So many memories. So much destruction, so much he had lost.

“You would like that. Wouldn’t you?” He put his armored foot on the young man´s chest, and pressed down. A spring of blood came out of the pirate´s mouth. “You will die, alright. But you won´t die now, and you won´t die here”.

The king turned to one of his guards, who limped by his side, and to the blond Viking that had managed to give them the victory over the terror of the sea.

“Drag this piece of garbage to my dungeons and patch him up. I want him to stay there and die as slowly as possible” He then turned to the defeated enemy, noticing for the first time how broken the young man´s was, legs, swollen knee, twisted arm, in how much pain he must have been while fighting, but unable to feel an ounce of pity for him, and spat on his face “ You will die between walls. You won´t see the sun again”. At those last words the face of the young man changed for the first time. A shadow of horror crossed his eyes before a second kick in his stomach, over the sword wound made him close them and pucks blood again. He was dragged out of the field, broken, weak in his struggle, and sweating in fear for the first time in his life.

***

Days had gone by, he thought. Not a ray of light reached him, not even the fire of the torches. All he had to entertain himself was the pain of his wounds poorly shewed, of his own guts slowly rooting and getting gangrene in the humid ambience of the dungeon. Things were going his way, he could feel his heart grow weaker, grow slower. Just not fast enough. Why wouldn’t death take him already. He didn´t fear it. He had bene cradled in it, lived in it, bathed in it. Since he could remember hell had felt like the natural place for him long ago and he was at peace with it, as far as there was light. Light that he must be imagining right now.

He kept his eyes closed, it created the illusion that, if he chose to open them he would see the blue skies over him, but the light managed to go through his eyelids. Maybe he was dying at least, he hoped. Maybe he was going insane. Insane yet again. He almost laughed, but he had no soul left for even a smile. Had he ever had a soul, to start with? Well, he´d soon find out.

“Go away” he said, as the warmth in his skin made it clear that this was no illusion but an actual torch coming close to the bars of his cell “I´ve been healed already. I won´t die anytime soon. And I talk to God in private, you have no business here”.

“I know, this is just for the pain, you idiot.”

“Then you got the wrong cell.” The pirate answered curtly, his eyes still closed.

“Cambaral, the pirate, right? You are hard to miss with the same fucking pirate clothes you know?” The pirate opened his eyes at that and turned his head. At the other side of the bars there was a young man in rich clothing, holding a torch on one hand and a basket with cloth and tars of ointment on the other. The pirate looked at him in mild confusion as his heart started to beat faster again for no reason he could find.

Antonio was used to command and be obeyed, he had it written in his eyes, but so was this man, he could tell. Somehow, when their eyes collided the arrogance in both seemed to crack against each other and fade in dust.

“You shouldn’t waste such expensive herbs in a man that´s meant to die.” The pirate informed.

“I should do whatever the fuck I want. Your hand.” Cambaral found himself obeying. He slid his dirty hand through the bars of his cell, broken fingers, dirt covered ulcers and all. The strange boy took a cloth of water and started cleaning his hand gently. The boy observed his fingers as if he was trying to read the twisted life of the pirate in his long fingers the same way the pirate was trying to read his in the hazel eyes and delicate face.

“You are a prince” Antonio wasn’t asking, he was stating. He was also not surprised. He was not feeling anything he could name to be honest, the entire situation was too strange, his heart pumped fat too quick, and even the walls seemed to fade around them.

“So are you,” the young man answered, lifting his eyes to Antonio´s, holding his green gaze without difficulty or fear, but with the same strange confusion the pirate felt “In a manner of speaking”.

Antonio didn´t nod, nor did he complain. He was a prince of murder, indeed, a prince of hell, a king of the sea. Few would argue with that. Would he get to die by sword like it defeated royalty? Probably not.

The thick herbal balm that the prince was spreading over his wounds tickled, but it numbed the pain. He could grab the prince´s neck and press him against the bars easily. He wouldn’t even need three moves to crack the youngster´s neck. Two to lock him in a grip and demand the keys of the cell in exchange for the prince’s life. However, he found himself not doing any of those things.

“Your other hand” The prince demanded, and Antonio found himself complying.

The young man washed both his hands and covered his arm in numbing ointment. He even gave him some to use on the wounds of his stomach and shoulder. As he applied it, the kid didn´t stop observing him for a second, as if he expected him to grow the horns of a goat or the tail of a devil at any instant. Cambaral didn´t. Obviously. He was just confused. Floating, and by the look of the prince, he felt the same as well.

When he was done, the pirate closed the lid of the ointment jar carefully, and returned it to the owner, letting another opportunity to kill the young man slide past him.

“Why did you do this?” he asked, his voice coarse with thirst.

“I guessed you´d be in pain. Weren´t you?”

“No. Why are you doing this?” The pirate repeated, staring at the prince with his green eyes. Prince Lovino lifted his head and stared back, like the abysm does, like the darkness.

“Why did you kill my mother?” Lovino answerra.

The pirate was taken aback for a moment. Not because he was remorseful, no. Because he recognized that for what it was. Not a question, but an answer. The answer. He didn´t know. Neither of them knew, so he nodded slowly as an invisible arrow pierced through his chest, making it beat even faster, wildly, as if he was on the mast of his ship, sun kissing his skin, northern winds playing with his hair.

He found himself gradually remembering how to breath, and forcing himself to do so, very deliberately and very slowly. The prince´s eyes were also stuck in his for the entire time, and even when the torch died the pirate was sure he could still see them in the darkness.

Slowly, deliberately, Cambaral found himself forming two three words he have never said together before in his life. Not to humans, not to himself, not even to God. He said them, like guided by a divine, invisible trance. He said them, and he meant them.

“I am sorry”.

A shiver run through the prince´s beautiful eyes. Antonio could see it. He vowed of his head to avert his gaze, the young royal picked up his basked and left the place. Cambaral followed the prince eid his gaze, heart beating madly.

"Wait!" He heard himself beg; something he'd swore to himself he would never use, not even in front of the gates of heaven " will you come again?"

Prince Lovino stopped by the door, face hidden in the darkness.

"Why do you ask?"

"Why did you come?" The pirate answered in an intimate whisper. Not a question, an answer. Lovino felt his heart speed up so much he felt it would escape his chess.

 

The prince came back, sneaking unseen at night, and the pirate felt his whole body shiver just from the sight.   
  
"Why did you come back?" he asked, offering his hand through the bars like the night before. The young man blushed, and inspected his gounded fingers with a gruff expression and far more atention than needed.

"I want to understand you."

"I want to understand  me too" the pirate answered to the darkness "But feel free to ask. Any information I may have, is yours, my prince"

"I didn´t take you for one given to submission or flattery"

"I´m not."

"Then what does this mean?" The prince growled, his face getting redder, and  somehow compeling the pirate to soften his voice. At this point he had lsot count of the time sin which he could have killed the young prince but had chosen not to.

"I don´t know.Are you given to charity?"

The hand that helf his shaked like a leaf.

  
The legend says that love brought back the will to live that the pirate had lost, or that maybe he never had. His heart beat strong against the gangrene and against the lost blood, walking one step further from death at each fleeting instant he got of his prince. The king got more and more frustrated as the man who was meant to waste away and die in his dungeons looked stronger and healthier each day. It didn't matter what tyoe of torture he was subjected to, how severely starved or how badly beaten, nothing could stop the fire of life that kept growing in him, healing his wounds and putting flesh back on his bones as if by miracle. 

Lovino couldn't always sneak food for him, but could always sneak a small smule through the door, a worried look. And that, for the black heart of the pirate, was more than enough.

The legend says that, one moonless night the prince sneaked inside the dungeons to complete a plan he and his lover had been tracing for a while. They escaped in the darkness, walking hand in hand towards a new beginning, a life of freedom and love, but someone betrayed them and they were ambushed as they tried to crossed the bridge that would led them to the port, to freedom.

Prince Lovino was a man of passion, who hated deeply and loved even more deeply, but he was not a brave man. When they both saw themselves surrounded by armored knights by both sides of the bridge, he knew his life was over.

Cambaral wouldn’t agree, daring as he was, he knew he could, maybe, make his way out of this with sword and daring, but he knew his chances were slim, and when Lovino pressed himself against him, terrified, eyes wet, he knew that said chance was not worth it.

He would not risk making it alive of this if it meant that his beloved one could die, and worse, die in fear, die screaming, scared, like he had seen so many of his own victims go. He would never allow Lovino to leave the earth with such a terrified look in his beautiful eyes, so he turned around,  dropped his sword, and kissed his lover softly in the center of the bridge, cupping his cheek and holding his waist  so the young prince could think of nothing that wasn´t him.

He poured all his love, all the tender feelings, the good things, the sweetness and warmth he didn´t knew he had in that kiss; he opened the gates that he had built to survive as a child to lock away everything that made him human, vulnerable, sweet, and let it flow freely through him. He teared down a lifetime of barriers and, despite of the terror that caused him, despite how painful it was. He gave everything good and pure that was left in him, and that the world had never had a chance to see. His knees felt weak, his heart raw as the pain and longuing he'd never had the courage to confront spread through his veins and took over his body, making him shake, but he kept going, ifferiof all he was and didn't knik how to handle to his prince, on the silver plate that were the soft movements of his lips and the shaking her f his fingeef against Lovino's skin.

Lovino relaxed, forgetting the world around him, and laced his arms around his pirate, finding peace in the kiss. For that instant, he was truly happy. The king´s guard ended the instant and turned it into an eternity, as he took both of his lives with one single blow.

That´s the legend of Cambaral, the pirate who lived killing and died kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Luarca, a flower grows under the bridge and in áreas where the sun doesn´t reach. It´s said to beborn from the blood of the lovers.
> 
> Curious about Toni´s pirate nickname?  
> Cambaral means "place full of crabs"(cambaru=crab, in Bable). There is a neighborhood in Luarca with that name, near abeach where picking crabs is especially easy. At the time it was a really poor fishing area, and the first one in receiving sea raidsor attacks. If that happened, people was left completely at the King´s mercy to survive for years, because they coudn´t feed themselves without their ships. I like to believe that Antonio was from that area, which was under the rule of Lovino´s father. I also believe that something terrible and not fully unrelated to the rulers of the area happened to him and his family when he was young that pushed him into the piracy life, that´s why he used the name of his neighborhood as a piratenickname as he looted and as he displayed the head of the rich and powerful that never knew the missery his family went through when he was growing up.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you are interested to know wheter I should keep adding stories!


End file.
